Years ago, when I heard the learned baseball man
speak of averages, pitch counts, and the
durability of his team’s core of relievers,
when his proofs and figures
were arranged in columns before him,
when I saw the charts, diagrams,
how soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick,
til rising and gliding out, I wandered off by myself,
and walked out to the mound of
my son’s Little League ball field.
Baseball’s very slow moving, I thought,
and maybe I can keep him 10 forever.
Both sons have moved to other fields of interest,
and I, I, wish now there was a new ball park in the moonlight
I could visit at age 70, today, in fact,
stop time and watch my son waiting for his pitch.

* Apologies to Whitman