Playing in Rochester that evening
Heading to Pawtucket overnight
385 miles away
When the rookie threw a curve
It kept rising over the left field fence
He took off the mask
Held it in his bent crooked fingers
Saw the manager poised on the dugout steps
Took his time walking to the mound
The public address system already playing
“So you had a bad day”
Got to the mound, spat tobacco
Rookie said,
Should have thrown the heater
Thinking of the long bus ride
The catcher said
I should have been a doctor.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME