“No One Listens to Poetry”
             – Jack Spicer

Baseball like poetry
threatens to bore us to death
then lifts a long fly
over the fence.
Just when we thought it was over
there are runners on base and we’re due.

We mow our lawns on Sunday patiently rub
our cars shiny then settle in
to the illusion of time.
Mexican songs across broken fences
the nectar smell of jasmine and the game
swelling through the radio.

Some people keep on making poetry up
the way others fall in love
sinking into empty space
over and over again.

No one listens
but we do it anyway
walking slowly
into the green outfield.