Poems by Frank C. Modica

Frank C. Modica taught children with special needs for 34 years. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Monterey Poetry Review, The Main Street Rag, and Trouvaille Review. Frank's first chapbook, “What We Harvest,” nominated for an Eric Hoffer book award, was published in 2021 by Kelsay Books. 

Klaatu 

Fear for an adult-

something concrete:

cancer, a heart attack.

But for a child,

fear is existential,

the werewolf

under the bed,

the insistent tapping

of a vampire

on the bedroom window.

 

When a sliver of light slices

through a gap in the curtain

this cold winter evening.

I remember the childhood nightmare,

the light reflecting

off the polished surface

of the robot Gort from

“The Day the Earth Stood Still.”

 

The visor opens,

the laser powers up.

 

I shiver and shake,

hope I save the world,

save myself,

hope I remember the words;

“Klaatu barada nikto.”

 

 

Fast Pitchin’ 

Before iPads,

before PlayStations,

and YouTube videos,

we chased our dreams

in the playground down the block:

two boys, pitcher and batter,

fielder and umpire,

we were the Cubs and Sox in a summer-long

World Series played until the street lights went on.

 

We stretched our own rules for singles,

doubles, triples, and home runs

from what we learned from older kids;

chalked a tall rectangle strike zone on the wall

of the nearest school,

marked off foul lines by fence posts.

Before each game we’d pick up a hard rubber ball,

a dime ball from a box near the cashier at the counter store,

play with hand-me-down leather mitts, and an old wooden bat.

 

Rubber met wood or the side of a brick wall.

We chased after line drives,

ground balls, long fly balls,

swung at impossible strikes and argued walks

inning after inning, game after game.

Win or lose, we believed

the summer would never end.