Reviving the Art of Baseball Doggerel
My similes have got sore knees.
My metaphors? Batting .184.
My anapest is not the best
And there’s no distance on my assonance.
Even sunny Rick Renteria
Pooh-poohs my onomatopoeia.
I’m sitting this week, or else ere long
My brain’ll need a Tommy John.
Did Vida Blue
ever pitch to
Dick Brown?
Did Bill White
ever fight
with Bud Black?
Was Dallas Green
ever mean
to Tyler Houston?
Did Mike Trout
ever dine out
with Tim Salmon?
Did Martinez, Carmelo
ever have Mark Lemongello
for dessert?
A contradiction—
of lazy clouds which
like counted sheep
unroll slowly overhead,
and did-you-see-that plays,
routinely made, which
flicker like lightning
beneath the skin.
Baseball was—and is—
born slow,
with metaphors for a head,
but when least expected,
it will rage—a storm.
Rod Carew
Swung as smooth
As warm cashew
Butter
While Killebrew
Did tattoo
Many a drooping
Cutter
Jim Kaat
Knew thaat
His curve could make baats
Flutter
Jim Perry
Never varied
Or cheated like his hairy
Brutter