The Game
That wild pitch
knocked the base lines
and they ran away from home.
The batter, however,
limped, unceremoniously, into
someone else's shower.
The spectators left, unaffected,
dripped Oscar Meyer juice on cotton sleeves
and collectively belched
stale pork.
That's a good question.
I wrote this a while back and I'm sure I was upset about something. Couldn't tell ya now.
How 'bout some Emily Dickinson this morning? Sort of brings to mind some of our discussions on this forum:
The show is not the show,
But they that go.
Menagerie to me
My neighbor be.
Fair play--
Both went to see.