THE SULTAN OF SWAT

(with apologies to Wallace Stevens)

Call the swinger of 40 oz bats,
The portly one, and bid him batter
Beyond the bleachers concupiscent curves.
Sit his infidelities in box seats
Behind home, and grant the boys
In all the hospitals their every wish.
Casey at the Bat he most assuredly was not –
The only true Sultan is the Sultan of Swat.

Take from the locker of the first to hit 60,
Deep in the bowels of the House that he built,
His uniform embroidered with ol’ #3,
And spread it, shroud-like, over
The one with the rooster-toed walk
Who strutted proudly around
All the bases after calling his own shot –
The only true Sultan is the Sultan of Swat.