Pencey Prep

Some time back we visualized you on the beach,
coolly holding out against the workaday world.
Welcome home, transfixed though you are to this fresh pitch,
abruptly put out to grass. How's tricks, friend? You weld

one hand to your bronze bag. Holden, how *is* the novel
coming along? (Stewie: "Gotta, gotta compelling
protagonist?" Also: "Gotta . . . Beginning, middle
and end?") Mockery. Sorry. Really, it's swell you're back, fulfilling

your destiny. You flat-out prince of a guy!
Now stay right there between the lines, OK? I spy
the teams, the teachers, the phoneys – 25 yards out

or thereabouts. They're asking: *who in hell is that?*
The head linesman wasn't looking for this kind
of scrimmage. He takes a knee; and offers you his hand.