1 strike, I'm out - no thoughts, no words

Only pictures "too pricey to throw away"

Or for some other purpose I'll someday surmise

When they're tinted yellow or I'm tinged with gray

2 strikes, I'm out - only token concern

And silent acceptance of plate tectonics

Claimed desires for some kind of reunion

But we're both aware, so no need to be honest

3 strikes, I'm out - my friend navigates

The road I briefly walked myself

No resentment that he's always held the map

No ambitions kept on some temporary shelf

4 balls mean walk - the smallest of progress

Results from this latest endeavor

Are tolerable: no "what if"s deny me

My sleep tonight. I'm getting better.