Last night I played catch with Joe Biden
Not for real but while sleeping in bed
He had quite an arm, I can tell you;
Threw consistently over my head
sailing above – then beyond – a tall fence,
and I gladly, repeatedly, climbed it.
retrieving the ball meant the game would go on;
bet we threw several hours had I timed it
But the best part – the BEST
was when throwing it back;
us with the fence in between.
I doubted my prowess
to clear the chain link;
had never played catch as a teen
But wanting to please,
I drew back my arm,
expecting to throw it
far short of the mark
Releasing and watching it
sail o’er the fence
and then beyond Joe
further into the park
Expected correction
for missing his hands;
steeled myself
to see pity or worse in his eyes
Instead he just laughed
with good nature, not judgment
kept our imperfect game going;
hope starts to rise.
Some say our dreams tell us nothing;
a synapse just doing a somnial leap.
If they bring me more joy and some clarity
those are some “accidents” I’ll choose to keep.
“It’s not all that difficult, folks, to be compassionate when you’ve been the beneficiary of compassion in your lowest moments … because when you know how much it meant to you, you know how much it mattered. It’s not hard to be compassionate.”
Joe Biden – 2015
defying atrophy 
I enjoyed this poem, Ben; it’s very imaginative.
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