Things fall apart;
the team cannot hold.
The dreams of post-season play
have vanished in the night.
An arm here, a leg there,
have contributed to
the downward slide
of my team now below .500.
Poor pitching and worse hitting
have ball players and management
shaking their heads in confusion.
The manager is quick to point out
it is still early in the season,
but the shroud of defeat
already hangs over the ball park.
The fans sense it, too,
as home attendance has plummeted.
Quick fixes are offered up –
trades, call up the promising
players from Triple A,
maybe even fire the manager.
Nothing can dispel the gathering gloom
of losing to teams they should beat.
Players know, but can’t reveal
that they are already playing out the string.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME