POEM in PROGRESS: SEVENTH INNING STRETCH

 

Here’s a new baseball-ish poem, in early draft form. Enjoy.

 

 

SEVENTH INNING STRETCH

          no longer languishing, exactly, the game still

struggles clumsily through afternoon’s nappy haze of

candycorn, indigestion, to find a semblance of an edge.

six or so innings in, the whole contest’s become

benign, seems a world-weary quarrel between two

old, old friends; a backslap-and-handshake, all but

foreordained. we know each batter’s hacks as no

more and no less than an old sous chef’s trick,

cheaply mimed: a dulled knife’s failed serrations half-

heartedly drawn across and along the ceramic base

of some sale-rack-chipped mug un-cupboarded solely

for this one odd purpose, this one steely goal.

          our attentions, too, are a makeshift sort

of honing; a defensive indifference on limpid display;

each next glance askew and somehow reduced – a lazy

curve breaking, an incurious arc just barely blinking

before its bottom falls out and it ends up in the dirt, cast

just aside.          but, deep down our desire’s a pitcher,

as full as this three-and-two count, still ready to balk

or crest and pour forth at slightest provocation, some

simple sign.           so: we wish the beer vendors just

one section closer; those frosty tallboys within our

reach. we mine coarse salt from popcorn bags empty

as a bullpen deep in extras. and we are then become

blood, we are then become pressure; rising. we are

a surface, we are a tension. we are suddenly anxious

to spill over this table waiting to be set; we are – despite

our once-yawned disinterest – pure appetite, now

whet.

 

 

 

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