December 5, 2024
Poetry
Venting Frustration on the Baseball Field, When the gods Retire (Willie Mays as a Met)
Artwork by DALL·E
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Venting Frustration on the Baseball Field When Roger Clemens, perhaps snapping in some steroidal spasm, Smoldering in combativeness, as if lathered in some tribal custom, Threw the barrel of Mike Piazza’s bat back at him, And a shadow over the World Series, he stayed in the game, Despite his best efforts to turn the Subway Series Into a boxing match between two teams. When I threw a bat in frustration, once, in Pony League, Coach pulled me off the field, My mom took me home, and my parents threatened To never let me set foot on another field. Things are sure mighty different in the big leagues. When the gods Retire (Willie Mays as a Met) When Willie Mays returned to New York as a Met, More myth and symbol than everyday ballplayer, Batted balls that fronted the warning-track wall And stretched across the broad, centerfield lawn, Soared unshadowed to become doubles and triples. The golden glove who once captured those long and loud outs And washed away the mistakes of his pitchers, like baptism, Nowadays, had trouble keeping up in the outfield, As the greatest ballplayer God ever fashioned, Quickly and humbled realized, that even he too, can’t play forever.
