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If I'm lucky, a scrap of paper gives me
a fragment, two words, a gnomic phrase
that I must translate into its full meaning.
Too often, as when I stumble on the scrap of paper
hidden for months under its brothers,
the meaning of the cryptic fragment
has been spirited away by the winged demons of Time.
Recently I chanced upon just such a scrap
which had surfaced from beneath a pile
and appeared on my desk.
Here's what it said:
"Red Splatters
"Tomatoes
"Ladybugs
"Black Bats
"Red Fires
"Black Dirt."
Not a word made sense.
I pondered, reflected,
searched memory.
double-checked handwriting.
After half a day I had it:
These were team names suggested by Sam
when he was four and we played
mock soccer games in the dining room.
Mortimer, Archibald, and Leroy
were all players that day,
but I don't remember
which team they represented.
Just by chance, however,
Sam was the star player
for the Red Splatters.
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