The names said it all those marbles
Flames and corkscrews
Limey’s and root beers
Aggies and slags
Beautiful glass orbs held in the palm of your hand
The friends played for hours
Bare kneed on the driveway white string for a circle
Playing for keeps
The thrill of winning the pain of losing
The whole world riding on the flicker of a thumb
The measured eye of the shooter.

He collects them now
Old marbles from his youth
He displays them so he can look at them
Colors still brilliant
Memories still vivid
Almost as good as being there he thinks to himself
Playing a hot game with his friends
Kneeling close together
Lining up that shot
Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out
The crowd going silent
Young once again
Playing for keeps.