A Cradled World(for Charles M. Schulz,
The football, yanked for the final time
sneaker’s arc, lies in the lush grass.
The Sopwith stands unbeagled
Von Richthofen drops a wreath.
The baseball team has left the field,
oh-for-forever. Linus has yielded to Linux,
just a country town once more.
Nickel psychiatry’s but an outpatient’s
and the Great Pumpkin’s in the purgatory of displaced
yet wherever gawky losers pine for red-haired girls
cartoonists rush to ink their work on time;
wherever people skip first to the
generations still will cradle your world
imploded for now, imbued
with the goodness of grief.