by Michael X. Ferraro
Bumper to bumper on the way home,
October baseball on the AM waves.
The guys in the booth are nattering
and then one allows, “Hee-ere’s the pitch.”
In the pregnant pause, a log is split
on my radio, a violent snap
of sound, like the dude from Green Day
just pulverized his snare. Or maybe
one of those “Where The Wild Things” saw red
and razed a roof. Either way, that pure
noise story-tells better than Scully.
Detroit’s sigh is broadcast nation-wide.
We are no longer wedged in traffic,
because bat met ball met microphone
and Marconi trots with Napoli.
As we headed to our local college campus this past weekend to attend two six-hour classes, my curiosity ran high. Would we sit in a circle “hee-hee”-ing and “hoo-hoo”-ing? Would someone faint during a birthing video? Would we get to fondle knitted boobs and diaper dolls?