The Players

The game is more than just a game and nothing but a game. Richard Howard in Quantities begins “The Old Men Playing Boccie on Leroy Street”

A sense of Fall without the trees
That make their rot so decorous,

And on through the middle of the poem

The old men play until I think
Their laughter is the bravest sport

And I can’t bear it to end. I want to stay with the prime image. As the poet says “Something has been given up / But they are playing” and that is how I choose to remember them. Why? Because I am led to this honouring by the poet. And you may be too.

And so for day 1037

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.