I listen to my team on the radio these days,
keeping the volume at a level
just below active involvement.
Like the ocean, the noise of batters and fielders
dips and raises in succeeding waves.
I wait for the crest of applause,
when a home run is struck, or a fielder
makes a play he wasn’t expected to make.
Sometimes, if the action is particularly slow,
I fall into a light sleep, knowing
that if any dramatic point were to arise,
my ears would catch the increased commotion.
Then, my brain would quickly imagine the action.
In this manner I maintain my loyalty to my team,
while affording myself time and place
to attend to more immediate concerns.
There will always be matters requiring my attention,
but I am secure in the knowledge
I can always get back to what is
of paramount importance – the ebb and flow
of the tides of the game.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME