Clothespins

By Stuart Dybek

I once hit clothespins
for the Chicago Cubs.
I’d go out after supper
when the wash was in
and collect clothespins
from under four stories
of clothesline.
A swing-and-a-miss
was a strike-out;
the garage roof, Willie Mays,
pounding his mitt
under a pop fly.
Bushes, a double,
off the fence, triple,
and over, home run.
The bleachers roared.
I was all they ever needed for the flag.
New records every game—
once, 10 homers in a row!
But sometimes I’d tag them
so hard they’d explode,
legs flying apart in midair,
pieces spinning crazily
in all directions.
Foul Ball! What else
could I call it?
The bat was real.

Stuart Dybek, the recipient of both Guggenheim and Macarthur fellowships, is the author of seven collections of short stories and poetry. He is the Distinguished Writer in Residence at Northwestern University where he teaches at the School of Professional Studies.

 

O’ Slider Slide

by Dylan Cease

O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
Past the batsman I send my slider to hide
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
Past the batsmen I send that round cowhide
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
A fortune staked on you lest I overstride
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
In the strike zone indeed a win is implied
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
The humans can’t believe my 3000 rpm and fastball ride
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
Your execution can earn you a bride
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
Even the back-up tried
O’ slider slide o’ slider slide
To the back foot of a lefty … check swing and the ump is wrong

Dylan Cease pitches for the Chicago White Sox and is a graduate of Milton High School, Milton, Ga.

The Homer

by Millie Bovich

When the ball meets the bat and you hear that clink
And you say, “It’s over the wall, I think,”
The love of the game swells up in your heart
And you say to yourself: “Of the game I’m part.”

The pitcher looks up with an eye to the sky
And watches that stitched sphere fly right by,
While the catcher too, mouth open wide,
Mutters, “I thought the pitch was a little inside!”

The batter tags first at a rapid pace
With the shortstop exhibiting a worried face.
At second he knows that the ball is gone
And the thought of a homer makes his running strong.

At third he’s aware of the team’s loud scream
And feels the realization of a long-sought dream.
A ninth inning win’s an amazing feat
And the manager knows that this game’s complete.

Fans hoot and holler, there is much applause
You get the feeling you’ve a package from Santa Claus.
Yes, fans go crazy making thund’rous noise
And the bench does, too, disregarding poise.

The man at the mike and the organist too
Add their own reactions to the hullabaloo.
So your heart was right, the ball’s out of sight
‘Cause the batter pulled the power from his thighs with might.

And you think to yourself as you watch the play
That long ball homer just made your day.
The scoreboard changes, adding one more run,
The fans keep bouncing, having lots of fun.

The hitter heads home, knowing he did fine,
And the smile on his face is as big as mine!
Yes, the morning papers wrapped the story up tight
That a ninth-inning homer won the game last night!

Long-time Tiger fan Millie Bovich signs her emails “Almost 92 with still much to do!” As Ernie Harwell would say, “And a fan from Dearborn, Michigan, caught that ball.”