Poem for October

by Hart Seely

.

Teixiera is a god to me,
He needs to be the MVP.
But if he wins no Series ring,
He won’t have won a goddamm thing.

This could be Jeter’s finest year,
Best season in his great career.
But if he gains no Series ring,
It will not mean a goddamm thing.

I still recall Scott Brosius’ clout,
To save us from our final out.
But we then took no Series ring.
It did not mean a goddamm thing.

We’ve shut down Papi, J.D. Drew,
Defeated Lester, Beckett, too,
But if there is no Series ring,
Those wins weren’t worth a goddamm thing.

So hear now, loudly, autumn’s call,
Which beckons to us, every fall:
“IF YOU DON’T WIN THAT SERIES RING,
“DON’T BOTHER COMING BACK NEXT SPRING!”

.

Posted 9/3/2009

Hart Seely is the author of  Mother Goose Goes to Washington, as well as Oh Holy Cow: The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto, newly released in a 15th-anniversary edition. He often hangs around the Yankee website, It is High, It is Far, It is….caught, offering tasteful and constructive comments to management and players alike.

Baseball Cards

by Dan Quisenberry  (KC Royals, 1979-1988)

.

that first baseball card I saw myself
in a triage of rookies
atop the bodies
that made the hill
we played king of
I am the older one
the one on the right
game-face sincere
long red hair unkempt
a symbol of the ’70s
somehow a sign of manhood
you don’t see
how my knees shook on my debut
or my desperation to make it

the second one I look boyish with a gap-toothed smile
the smile of a guy who has it his way
expects it
I rode the wave’s crest
of pennant and trophies
I sat relaxed with one thought
“I can do this”
you don’t see
me stay up till two
reining in nerves
or post-game hands that shook involuntarily

glory years catch action shots
arm whips and body contortions
a human catapult
the backs of those cards
cite numbers
that tell stories of saves, wins, flags, records
handshakes, butt slaps, celebration mobs
you can’t see
the cost of winning
lines on my forehead under the hat
trench line between my eyes
you don’t see my wife, daughter and son
left behind

the last few cards
I do not smile
I grim-face the camera
tight lipped
no more forced poses to win fans
eyes squint
scanning distance
crow’s-feet turn into eagle’s claws
you don’t see
the quiver in my heart
knowledge that it is over
just playing out the end

I look back
at who I thought I was
or used to be
now, trying to be funny
I tell folks
I used to be famous
I used to be good
they say
we thought you were bigger
I say
I was

.

Published 9/2/2009