My eyes stick to the screen
For something not quite human
Floating above the sweat and parquet stratosphere
To win and validate what’s already in his heart.
A canvas speckled with God’s paint,
A peak among evolution’s valleys,
That we’ve been lucky to see
For these 18 seasons or so.
His last few are melting into
The ground that’s sewn through
93 south, and the commuter rail,
So that he’ll never go away or be forgotten.
The years slip away like faded rosters,
But I’ll never forget Garnett,
Who knew more people in town than I ever will,
A symbol for something most will never be.
While I’m on the Earth,
I yearn for muscle gods to churn the ground
To their will,
and there are many,
But he is the best.