by Stuart Shea
It can take a lifetime
To control your gift:
A paintbrush, a mind, a fastball.
(Long after the attention fades,
You go on.
And on, and on,
Working your way through the jungle
With a butter knife,
Trying to figure out why the hell you’re here.)
Even at the top,
There are peaks to scale,
Before spring to past fall.
But once you’ve laid down the tools,
You can sigh and smile
Until last call.
Former White Sox pitcher, scout Bart Johnson Dies–Chicago Tribune