A poet because his hand goes first
to his head & then to his heart.
The catcher accepts the pitch
as a pool receives a dripping diver;
soaks up the curve like
cornflakes in milk.
The hitter makes great
show of wringing out his bat.
On the mound he grins, tiger
in a tree, when the umpire
turns round & round the ball
magically dry as alum.
He draws a second salary as maintenance man.
Since while he pitches he waters the lawn.
baseball i gave you all the best years of my life.
Richard Grossinger and Lisa Conrad
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