First to Go, Last to Leave

we don’t write poems
about death
when we’re young

death lies anchored
just beyond our horizon
so why bother
there is much sailing to do

there is plenty of time
to write poems about death
when we’re old

as we realize 
time now holds 
a different purpose

we begin each day 
when we want
how we want

yet always tired from long nights
trying to understand messages
from restless visitations

we reflect with friends
on the adventures 
that brought us here

we look at each other 
silently judging our decline by
comparing skin tone and hair gone silver

we share notes
on doctors and procedures
ailments and medications

we exchange 
our love and gratitude
for healing

we wonder in silence 
who will be the first to go
and the last to leave

we notice all things 
great and small within our reach
that we missed

we appreciate how the light 
seems brilliantly different now
and clouds shape the day

as we turn our gaze
just past the horizon
and remind ourselves

there is still much sailing to do

Ken Owen August 2025 Van Niddy Press

Breakfast at the Sock Hop Diner

I wonder what the Chinese elders think 

of the music of The Big Bopper and Buddy Holly

when they come for breakfast 

at the sock hop diner 

in the old neighborhood.

Most have a look on their face

as if they wouldn’t care for this music

even if they could hear it

(which they probably can’t)

Besides, with brows furrowed in heavy concentration

and assisted by loving sons and daughters

to make sure each step lands soft and sure, they are 

simply too busy to pay attention to the lyrics to “Get A Job.” 

I’d suppose they might enjoy some songs of this era

that have lovely orchestrations such as 

“Since I fell For You” or “True Love Ways”

but turning up their hearing aid only to hear

someone bellowing, “Oh baby, that’s-a what I like!”

could be a risky distraction 

when the possibility of a bad fall 

looms with every step

and is probably why they leave

their hearing aides on the bedside table

when their loving sons and daughters

take them to breakfast at the sock hop diner

in the old neighborhood.

—Mel’s Diner, Geary Street, San Francisco, 07/08/25

Pain Rides A Train

Having received his first assignment and destination, he waited patiently at the station for his train. Upon its arrival, he slowly boarded with a mixture of caution and curiosity. With his head slightly bowed so as to observe but not make eye contact, he walked past the buzzing hangover headaches in the bar car, then through the dinner car full of rumbling gastronomical upsets, and made his way into the crowded passenger car.

Breaking his concentration, a voice bellowed, “This seat is open, if you’d like. The gent just got off at the last station. A throbbing toothache, I believe.” The unassuming new rider bowed slightly and murmured a quiet, “Thank you.” 

Everything about his new seat mate was large, formidable, persistent, and confident in purpose. You could tell he was not one to be taken lightly. “Where you headed?” he rumbled.

“Oh yes, right…,” stumbled the new rider, reaching for his paperwork. He quickly glanced down at his instructions and destination. “Just a slight pain in the knee, it says here. Seems he’s over-exercising lately, but it doesn't say why.” 

“Well,” said his seat mate, leaning over and lowering his voice to his best attempt at a whisper, “there are rumors about him trying to lose weight and start dating again.”

 

“And may I ask, where are you headed?” asked the knee pain. 

“Lower back, debilitating spasms, all brought on by stress. Says here it will be at least a 2-week assignment that may get extended,” said the back pain. 

“Oh my,” was all the knee pain could muster in response while staring at his paperwork.

“Your first assignment, I take it?” asked the back pain. 

“Why, yes,” said the knee pain.

 “Makes sense,” said the back pain. “They usually assign you small jobs when you first start out.” 

Just then, all the gastric rumblers in the dining car and the buzzing headaches in the bar car went silent when they saw who was waiting for the train as it pulled into the next station. 

“Oh dear,” said the back pain while looking out the window. “Well, it all makes sense now. I’d guess this train is going to see a great deal of new commuters for a while.” 

The knee pain quickly looked to see who’d gotten everyone’s attention. 

He stood alone on the platform, tall with a black overcoat and hat, carrying a briefcase, with a despondent look on his face and a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Who is he?” asked the knee pain. 

“That’s a heartache, dear boy. He’s the reason all the rest of us are here.” 

“What do you suppose is in his briefcase?” asked the knee pain. 

“Memories…lots of memories.” 

And as he slowly boarded and the train cars fell silent, heartache took a seat by himself and stared out the window as if he was looking for an answer in the night sky.

Ken Owen    July 2025    Van Niddy Press

After A Long Clear Night

 

Early morning
the large grove of trees
on the other side of my window
sleeping in
after a long clear night
of people punching holes in the sky
and filling them with loud bangs of color.

Birds of all sizes and colors
searching hard for breakfast
on a still and windless morning
after a long clear night

where the wind stayed off-shore
and held back the night fog
while it watched the show
it usually denies.

The trees stir slowly now
as the wind makes its way home
and people rise slowly from celebrating
after a long clear night.


—after a long clear night in San Francisco, July 4, 2025

I Remember Baseball

As I grow older,
committing names to new faces
seems a constant struggle, 
yet there are still many things I can easily remember:

I remember being fascinated

watching Willie McCovey at the plate 

and wondering just how nervous 

he made the pitcher.

I remember how Willie Mays 

sometimes wouldn’t take 2nd base 

so they would have to pitch to McCovey.

I don’t remember anyone explaining to me 

what “The Say Hey Kid” meant.

No one had to explain to me 

what “Dirty Al Gallagher” meant.

I remember Dick Dietz

crowding the plate and getting hit by pitches

to get on base. I thought that was awesome.

I remember Candlestick Park 

was always cold and windy.

Nobody cared. You brought a jacket 

and wore a sweater underneath it.

If the Giants were losing 6-0 in the 7th inning,

for $5.00 you could go to the Stadium Club 

and watch it on T.V. and wait for the 

parking lot to empty (it didn’t take long.)

I remember the night Johnnie LeMaster 

replaced the name on his jersey with “Boo”.

I remember thinking that

Chris Speier seemed like a regular guy.

I remember thinking 

Manny Trillo was the best 2nd baseman 

I had ever seen.

***

I remember hating the Oakland A’s 

because I was secretly jealous

of all their great players.

Bill King was their announcer 

and would yell, “Holy Toledo!”

after a great play.

Bill King and Rollie Fingers 

both had handlebar mustaches.

I remember Gene Tenance’s name 

was pronounced ‘Geno Ten-notch-A’

in Italian.

I adopted the Baltimore Orioles 

as my American League team 

because of my jealousy of the Oakland A’s.

The 1970 Baltimore Orioles 

were the last team that had a 

starting rotation with four 20 game winners:

Jim Palmer, Dave McNally, Mike Cuellar, and Pat Dobson.

(That makes for a great bar room trivia question

because everyone always forgets Pat Dobson.)

Brooks Robinson 

was a god.

Boog Powell 

was a mountain.

Frank Robinson 

was a great player.

Frank Robinson 

became a lousy manager.

Earl Weaver 

was a nut

and he loved to beat

Sparky Anderson.

Sparky Anderson

was a nut

and he loved to beat

Earl Weaver.

Those Cincinnati Reds teams

were great and they beat the Dodgers

so I was cool with that.

I remember thinking 

Joe Morgan was the best 2nd baseman 

I had ever seen.

***

I remember Jeffrey Leonard 

hitting home runs 

and running the bases 

with “One Flap Down.”

I remember thinking 

we finally have a real lead-off hitter 

when we signed Brett Butler.

I remember disowning Brett Butler

when he signed with the Dodgers.

I remember Will Clark “over modulating” 

Gary Park’s microphone 

after winning the pennant.

I remember Kevin Mitchell 

catching a ball he over-ran with his bare hand 

while smiling with his gold tooth.

I remember trying not to tear up 

when Dave Dravecky made his return 

to pitch at Candlestick Park.

I remember

no one drafted Bob Brenly 

out of college.

I remember thinking

Matt Williams would never

learn how to hit a curve ball.

He finally did.

I remember thinking 

Robby Thompson was the best 2nd baseman 

I had ever seen.

***

I remember Steve Carlton and Randy Johnson 

came to the Giants chasing wins and strikeouts 

before they retired.

I remember everyone knew 

Darryl Strawberry as a Giant 

wouldn’t work out.

It didn’t.

I remember being very excited

about the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.

I remember being surprised

that nobody else in the country was excited 

about the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.

I remember thinking 

we had a real shot

at beating Canseco, McGwire, and Dave Stewart

in the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.

Not even close.

I remember being at the 2002 World Series,

Giants and Angels, game 6 in Anaheim

with my father, a long time San Francisco Seals and Giants fan.

I don’t want to talk about it.

I remember being confused 

that I was the only one in the Men’s room 

at Pac Bell Park until I heard the crowd 

cheering a Barry Bonds home run.

I remember looking at my girlfriend

with tears in my eyes when we won

the World Series in 2010.

She thought I had lost my mind.

I remember reading the opening day lineup

every year since I was a kid and thinking

“Hey, I think we might have a shot at it this year!”

***

It seems I will always have my memories 

of watching a long list of great players like 

Ozzie Smith, Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson

Carl Yastrzemski, and Hank Aaron,

 

and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised

how I just remembered

both Roberto Clemente 

and Thurman Munson

died in small airplane crashes.

They say it’s the new memories 

that are hardest to establish

as you get older,

so I still read my team’s box score each morning,

review the lineup before each game,

and try to commit to memory

the names of our backup catchers

because you never know

when that might come in handy

in some bar room discussion. 

Ken Owen July 2026     Van Niddy Press