America’s past-time furloughed
to August evening indoor innings
of vicious wiffle balls & plastic bats
Herculean swings strike tall brass lamps
while the wintry breeze from rabid air
conditioners chill living room stadiums &
pitchers adjust their hats with three fingers,
spit Red Man chewing tobacco in Budweiser cans,
feet dig into immaculate shag carpets
thick pile replacing clay, sand & dirt mounds,
when in twilight shadows, an unidentified
neighbor strikes a few organ cords, calls for
a rally to move the Covid-19 pandemic along,
respecting Major League players & their fans’
health alike, yet eager to substitute each row of
cardboard cutout ballpark fans with real people.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME