by Hilary Barta, assisted by Sid Yiddish
In the winter they swarm to Caracas
Where the fans, true to form, shake maracas
.     Down there all the players
.     Don’t wear many layers
As the sun keeps them warm in the tuchas.
Glowering at Bowering
by Pseud à Nîmes
New York, London, Paris, Munich
Everybody talk about, mmm….
Pop music, aye, and news and sport
But to Bardball blast, we must retort
From the bleachers, and godly seats
Loving testimonies – and testy tweets
Au contraire, in Europe there is but little
Interest – like our economy, entirely brittle
In our excitement, we do refrain
From all small talk of one Ferris Fain
Unknown to us, across the Golden Pond
In our view, his sport just a frond
Of the nascent game we called rounders
Those damn Yankees – cads and bounders!
Ferris Fain
by George Bowering
I’ll never see his like again,
My favourite hitter, Ferris Fain.
In London, Amsterdam and Paris,
They talk of nothing else but Ferris.
He always managed to amaze,
This handsome batsman of the A’s.
In 2002, George Bowering was appointed the first Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada. His newest book, The Diamond Alphabet, is now available from BookThug.
No Joy in Mudville
by Jim Siergey
This World Series sure done went screwy
with champs being wild card St. Looey
.    Midwest thinks it’s grand
.    but Cubs fans sneer and
collectively catcall, “Ah, Phooey!”
The Upside to Discretionary World Series Watching
by James Finn Garner
I wish Detroit had gone farther,
not so quickly emptied their larder
.    but I feel I’m in luck
.    to not hear Joe Buck
and double that for Colonel McCarver.