Every time the Red Sox Lose, A short poem

Every Time the Red Sox Lose 
By: Ryan Beodeker

There’s a specific gaze, 
that’s shared between young lovers. 

Though memory now,
with the last grains of the sandy hour glass,
have fallen through to the other-side.
I remember a fleeting smile,
the warm touch of lips by fireside.
Hands held,
voices meld.
Young lives intertwined into one.

There was defined happiness.
A found bliss.
Slightly missed.
Jaded companionship,
the horrors of unrequited love.
The pains of youth fading:
red-orange, to blue-green-purple.
Now nothing but the still silence of night.

I think about you every time the Red Sox lose.
How you must in the same fit of rage,
of so many years gone,
scrunch up your nose,
jump up on your toes.
Squeal and skriek.

I think about you every time the Red Sox lose.
I think on all the dates,
as if it were fate,
of you sitting glued to the tv,
completely engrained in the game.
I bet you wouldn’t even acknowledge your name,
never during a game.

I think about you every time the Red Sox lose.
Thinking back to helping you through all your blues.
The ups and downs,
The sighs and frowns.
Our inability to find common ground.
Now each loathes the sound.

I love each time the Red Sox lose.
Sad as it seems it reminds me of you.
Thinking of all the things you would do.
Every single time the Red Sox lose.