baseball love poems preview

a few drafts in progress from the baseball love poems book, also in progress.

SWING AWAY

This pitch is high, but I don't like called third strikes. This pitch is high, but it will carry. This pitch is high and I know I need to swing

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I will wait on it because I can wait anything out if I think I will win

and I think of Jim Leyland saying the sound of the ball coming off the bat of a great hitter is distinct and pure

I imagine like middle C on the piano

and I think of Mike Piazza saying broken bats are the most beautiful music he's known

and I think of a woman I knew and a man I loved and wonder what they're doing in my old bed at my old house

and I think of choking up but decide not to because I hate being told to choke up

and I think the third baseman is tall and lean like young Johnny Cash

and I think of the sweet spot and Sweet Lou and how the porta-johns on the Little League diamonds always smelled like giant Sweet Tarts

and I think of my friend who told me

The Tigers are the Tigers. But the game is real, Angela,

and the game is as beautiful as Lou Whitaker's right arm.

Find a bat that feels right, tap it twice against each cleat, and swing.

and I think of Bobby Higginson and wish I had a great beard or a mouthful of chewing gum or heavy metal music playing when I walked into the batter's box

and I think I still have to wait

and I think they're playing me shallow and I think I will burn them each in their red jerseys

and I think I hear the left fielder say she's gonna swing but I'm not hearing it right

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I'm singing and I'm rounding first

and I'm singing and I'm standing on second with my hands on my hips and dirt across my cleats and

the only thing I can remember is the sound

of a tolling church bell and relief and Swing Low Sweet Chariot.