I burnt my tongue
on bowling alley pizza
and threw a thirteen pound ball
in memoriam
for the 13 point game I threw
when I had long hair and braces
and an inferiority complex
about being an only child
among Catholic homeschool kids
with 107 siblings, and a least two
named Mary.
And I remember being
disappointing and desperate
for one real moment of connection
between gutter balls
and sips of watered down soda.
But my kid?
His ball flies down the lane
and all his friends look different
and come from different worlds
and he grins as the pins fall
because he belongs
everywhere he goes.