I often fail to correctly
Pronounce Demeter, earth goddess,
Goddess of the harvest,
Mother of Persephone
Who fell into a hole
That led to Hades and hell
Where she ate the seeds
Of a pomegranate,
Because of Don Demeter,
A Phillie for three years,
Who was moved from
The outfield to third base
Where his fielding became
Terrible, eighteen errors
In a hundred games, so
The fans booed him horribly
And one afternoon after
Two boots on easy plays,
A true-blue Phillies fan
Tossed a red apple Don’s way
To clobber him, but it rolled
Sweetly into his glove
And Don bit into the apple,
Then bit again, the booing
Stopped and he tossed
The apple toward the dugout
Where the cameras
Watched it fall down
The concrete steps.
Don became a preacher
After his career ended,
And started a pool-
Building business, digging
Holes in Oklahoma
And filling them with water,
And Persephone returned
To her mother every year,
Rising out of a crack
In the earth, always quick-witted,
Always young, and her mother,
Demeter, became emotional
Each year, crying, crying
To see her returned
From the land of the dead,
A delight, a joy, the girl of summer.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME