A friend had the coolest baseball glove,
I think it was a Wilson A2000.
The leather was soft and dark
From all the oil it held.
The strings were tight and
And hung like long hippy braids.
Its shape was molded into
A ground ball gobbling machine.
Not only did he have the coolest glove,
He also drove the coolest Bronco.
The color was green,
Both his ride and my envy.
Years later, I would find
A water soaked Wilson,
Take it home, dry it out,
Tighten the strings, oil it up,
And have catches with my son
Until the leather finally rotted too much to hold the ball.
Years later, I’m riding high in a black 150,
A grandpa truck, not a youthful Bronco.
Each time I see a vintage Ford though,
I think of my old friend and his glove.