Sunday, June 29, 2014

How about a Sunday Night Baseball Poem?

Tonight's post was borne from a couple of inspirations.  One was a recent post by Hackenbush over at Can't Have Too Many Cards.   In his post, Hackenbush presented a poem about angels - and a pretty good one at that - although I felt the poet could have used an editor and a few less lines.  Then again, what do I know about poetry? 

My armchair criticism reminds me of a line from the film Amadeus. In the scene Mozart plays his masterpiece opus for the king (no, not Elvis). I can't recall the name of it, but most of us would recognize the tune if we heard it. 

The king says to Mozart that he doesn't like it. Mozart, shocked by this, because he knows the work is dang good, asks the king what he doesn't like about it.  The king, baffled by being asked to explain himself, and having no legitimate criticism responds, "It has too many notes".  Too many notes! What a maroon.

But I digress, my post is about a poem too.  The second inspiration came from that shoebox that I recently wrote about. Among the cards, were a few other odds and ends. One of them was a piece of paper I had apparently cut out of the newspaper long ago. On that folded and yellowing paper was this poem:


am just 
a girl but I 
can see me stepping
to the plate. C'mon, show
your best curve ball. My weight
                       flows right to left as I step into the pitch, 
                    smack it so hard, it flaps its leather wings 
and flies into the blue mitt of the sky, and I'm running 
1st, 2nd, past 3rd, and heading home. I'm every fan, anthem, inning,  Mitsubishi scoreboard, gut bumping gut at the mound, 
knee-high sock, knot-holed fence, wadded ticket in a kid's 
sweaty fist. That's me, the green grass of night games, tobacco 
spit, spilled beer, Dodger dog, peanut tosser, the sun bleaching 
      the bleachers at Chavez Ravine as my finger tip arrives 
before the ball in the catcher's glove, and I AM SAFE.

Good night, everybody, and welcome home - SAFE - Matt. 

No comments:

Post a Comment