Wings by Stephen Berg
In the modest plot I see them
kneeling to pick tomatoes, yanking weeds,
squatting between rows of broccoli, squash, beans,
Bill’s pulled-back pony tail, Cathy’s fine ass,
two sheds Bill built, rakes bunched against a wall –
the Jew I am had to buy a Badminton set
for the clear space of grass next to their garden
where net, poles, stakes, chalk lines would be,
then shuttlecocks, no plastic, real feathers only,
at least six rackets – every summer
out there eating and drinking we would play hard,
& I, the oldest, I must say, beat the living shit
out of everyone – adults, teenagers, kids –
a great pro blessed with wings – in my head.