by John Grey
When was the last time
rains were this Biblical
Any minute now I’m expecting
two of every animal
to traipse in from the outfield
not a bunch of ballplayers
high-tailing it to the dugout
like they’re eking out an infield hit.
And how irreverent the downpour
splashing over the Green Monster,
slapping against the Pesky Pole,
flooding the pitchers’ mound
where Roger struck out twenty,
the base paths where Fisk danced
his winning jig in ‘75,
even the batter’s box where Ted Williams
swung his devilish lumber
on the way to averaging .400.
Still, it’s early and the Sox are
trailing big time.
So it’s a washout courtesy of the baseball gods.
With any luck,
that 0-6 score will drown.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, and Red Sox fan, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Rathalla Review.