Selected Poems
It's only a baseball moon.
Did you and I ever see the same moon?
Looking for Mr. October, drinking cheap beer she said it was only baseball moon
that brought her here, to bat, this time. She played the field only an inning on two.
It's only that damn baseball moon, Twi-night double
lit in near day light above left field bleacher bums.
A dirty stitched moon, breaking ball heading westward starting eye high
and suddenly back spun down and away. Swing through that Mudville air.
She was off speed and changed up, left me hacking away at next to nothing
Even worse, after throwing my bat down a laughing third base foul line.
She said it was an easy can of corn, just before dinner
coming straight down Broadway and hanging over the plate.
Just another underhand hidden ball trick, she always counts balls as strikes leaving
bitter tobacco tastes. She chewed up, spit me out and threw a struck out looking pitch.
We never hit it off and one of us eventually walked.
God, I hate baseball.
I'd rather have sit those five minutes for fighting.
Hockey is way better, eh.
