To me they were the gods
of my youth
Uniformed, muscular men
Throwing, catching, hitting,
Striding across the Elysian Fields
Mr. Oldham’s English class pantheon
Promethius, Apollo, Hercules and Zeus
Battled my celestial line-up
The Mick, The Man, The Splinter, The Babe
Hovering high above me,
Staring from magazine racks,
Boxed inside video cabinets,
Printed on cardboard rectangles
I flipped, traded, clutched to my heart
Their game linked me
with immortality.
I wore pinstipes, cleats and a cap;
And like a baseball Odysseus,
Slaughtered fastballs, not suitors;
Rounded bases, not islands;
With my eyes always fixed,
on reaching
Home.