—Poetry by Michael Ceraolo, South Euclid, Ohio
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
REMEMBRANCE OF A ONE-TIME EVENT
(and a Few Other Observations)
A February day
After making coffee first thing
I finished reading One-Act Plays of Molière
(translated by Albert Bernel)
The book had been languishing unread
until the other day,
when I saw
that the Library of America
would be bringing out in the fall
two volumes
of Richard Wilbur's translations of Molière
Mid-morning
I went to visit my twin grandchildren;
it was a brief visit
because one of them was sleeping
and there was no reason to wake her
Driving home
I could hear asphalt being kicked up:
a city crew was, inexplicably,
out cold-patching potholes
While in the same city
I sat for half a minute
at a traffic light where there
was no cross traffic the entire time,
and
I wondered how many million gallons of fuel
were wasted each year in this country
(I can't speak to other countries)
because
cities had automatic, rather than actuated,
traffic signals
Later,
I glanced briefly out the window
at a field in the park
(a park recently taken over
by the local park organization
after decades of neglect
by the state park system),
where
almost fifty years earlier,
on one of the first Presidents' Day weekends,
I went snowmobiling
for the first and only time
A gale warning is in effect today,
and
I have to keep both hands on the wheel
to keep from being buffeted about,
so the glance had to be brief
(and a Few Other Observations)
A February day
After making coffee first thing
I finished reading One-Act Plays of Molière
(translated by Albert Bernel)
The book had been languishing unread
until the other day,
when I saw
that the Library of America
would be bringing out in the fall
two volumes
of Richard Wilbur's translations of Molière
Mid-morning
I went to visit my twin grandchildren;
it was a brief visit
because one of them was sleeping
and there was no reason to wake her
Driving home
I could hear asphalt being kicked up:
a city crew was, inexplicably,
out cold-patching potholes
While in the same city
I sat for half a minute
at a traffic light where there
was no cross traffic the entire time,
and
I wondered how many million gallons of fuel
were wasted each year in this country
(I can't speak to other countries)
because
cities had automatic, rather than actuated,
traffic signals
Later,
I glanced briefly out the window
at a field in the park
(a park recently taken over
by the local park organization
after decades of neglect
by the state park system),
where
almost fifty years earlier,
on one of the first Presidents' Day weekends,
I went snowmobiling
for the first and only time
A gale warning is in effect today,
and
I have to keep both hands on the wheel
to keep from being buffeted about,
so the glance had to be brief
GOOD NEWS
A Tuesday evening,
and
a baseball game between the
visiting Houston Astros
and the home Cleveland Indians
(now Guardians)
A classic pitcher's duel,
with
twenty-five strikeouts and only two runs scored
(there should only have been one run scored:
Cleveland outfielder Tyler Naquin
made a diving catch for what
should have been the third out of the inning,
but
the umpire ruled it wasn't a catch,
and
when the call was challenged,
the obligatory botched replay review
upheld the wrongness;
it was a catch live,
and a catch on every replay shown
on the ballpark's video board)
The home-plate umpire, Laz Diaz,
signaled strikes as if he were giving
an imaginary uppercut
to anyone who disagreed with his calls
(Good rule of thumb:
if you know
the name of any sports official,
that person is a bad official,
either
because he or she has made too many bad calls
or because he or she has made themself
into an attraction,
or both
Diaz exemplified this:
he twice walked over to the Indians dugout,
wagging his finger at someone or several someones,
looking even from far away as though
he wanted to give someone a real uppercut)
But this isn't entirely a baseball poem,
it's also the story of the tickets
The tickets are filled with small-print legalese,
among other things
advising the ticket-holder that any claim
shall be resolved by binding arbitration
(though not so concisely stated)
and issuing a "WARNING:
Holder acknowledges and assumes
all risks and dangers associated with the Event"
(Of course,
if you've never tried to catch
a 100-MPH batted or thrown ball
the principle of informed consent
is right out the window,
not to mention the ethical dubiousness
of accepting such risk for your child)
Information at the top of the ticket:
Infield District— Gate
VENUE
Progressive Field Section: 504
DATE Row E
7/30/19 at 7:10 PM Seat: 3
Commish— Health Related
That last cryptic info
is partially explained
at the bottom of the ticket:
Customer Number: 200908341
Confirmation Number: INDM-70934763 (SSP)
Ticket Price: $1.00
CIHR
The tickets were priced for a health-related charity,
and I came by them because my daughter manages
a hotel
and one of the guests gave her tickets he couldn't use;
she thoughtfully passed them along to me
The reason the person couldn't use the tickets:
there weren't enough kids with cancer
A WALK IN THE PARK (And Some Questions)
As I drive into the park
to take Chase for his first long walk of the day
I see the sign:
PARK CLOSES
AT DARK
CO. 955.01
and
decide to look it up when I get home,
to see how longstanding the prohibition has been
"(a) No person shall enter or remain
in any Municipal park
after dark or during darkness,
except
for authorized use of park facilities
Authorized use of park facilities
applies to
tennis courts,
swimming pools,
pavilions
or permitted use of park areas
by groups or organizations
when approved and supervised by
the Director of Safety
Park area use permits
shall be granted by the Director
. . .
(Ord. 71-36, passed 7/6-71)"
And I think back to a time
after the ordinance's passage,
playing hockey after dark in the parking lot
that had been adapted to ice skating in winter,
neither I nor anyone else having gotten
a permit to play
(one of the players
was the son of a city police officer,
so
he may have known about the law;
none of the rest of us did)
And
I remember playing tennis there
without ever getting a permit
(the tennis courts had lights,
which are still there)
And
all the way down
to the present day,
when
the park is decorated with lights
for the holidays
I haven't done so myself,
but
I'll go out on a limb and say
none of the people
who walked through the park
to see the lights and other decorations
bothered to get a permit
And
for more than fifty years people
have unknowingly practiced
civil disobedience
(is it civil disobedience
if you don't know you're breaking the law?
is it civil disobedience
if the law isn't being enforced?)
And
isn't it a kind of municipal idiocy
to have a law on the books
that isn't being enforced?
And
wouldn't it be even worse
if some authoritarian
decided to start enforcing it?
Questions that apply almost everywhere
_________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Do what you love to do and give it your very best. Whether it's business or baseball, or the theater, or any field. If you don't love what you're doing and you can't give it your best, get out of it. Life is too short. You'll be an old man before you know it.
—Al Lopez
_________________________
Our thanks to Michael Ceraolo for his poems today from his collection, Euclid Creek Book Four. Baseball season is just around the corner! Ever play baseball in the snow?
Learn more about Michael and his books at https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59086031-euclid-creek/.
_________________________
—Medusa
Michael Ceraolo
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
