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Let’s Watch Two!

by Todd Herges

Bright dawn blue sky
Cubbies play at 1:05.

Dad, Mom, sons, daughter
Head like lambs unto the slaughter..

Ride aboard the red line El,
Hope that Z will throw it well.

See the green, the grass, the board,
Hope Dad’s cash he will not hoard.

See the wall, the bricks, the ivy,
Hope that Z K’s Junior Spivey.

Smell the stale beer, puke, and links
D Lee’s sitting – Dad’s heart sinks.

But then Aramis hits a double,
Spoils the no-no, causes trouble.

Up in the booth a new guest sings
But not like Harry’s echoed rings.

One son for extra innings thanks
This day was one for Ernie Banks.

As Holly wraps it up so well,
The family knows the day’s been swell.

Then back aboard the loud red train
To the hotel – it looks like rain.

Glad it held off for these few hours,
Maybe thanks to higher powers,

Hack and Harry and Chance and Brown
Stand in the clouds and look straight down

Into the green grass lined by Waveland,
Sheffield, Addison – Chicago’s Graceland.

They held back rain, they hold back tears,
Been over a goddamn hundred years.

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Posted 5/28/2009

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A Perfect Game

by Gregory K.

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Tonight we’re at a baseball game:
The minors (double A).
But I don’t care! it’s me and Dad –
My siblings stayed away!
My soda couldn’t be more flat.
My Cracker Jacks taste old.
The peanut vendor never came.
My hot dog caught a cold.
But Dad and I are having fun.
In fact, it’s quite a blast.
We’re talking, laughing, telling tales
As innings move on past.
He tells my why he loves the game,
Each hit, each out, each run.
I tell him why I don’t like math.
He says, “Like Dad, like son.”
I tell him that I had a crush,
How weak it made my knees.
He tells me how he met my mom
And when to try a squeeze.
I ask about a stolen base
And why folks like to dance.
He tells me tales of baseball greats
And all about romance.
Dreams, home runs, and silly jokes –
They all come up, and more.
Tonight we’re at a baseball game…
And we’re not keeping score.

Gregory K.  is a screenwriter, poet, and volunteer school librarian.  You can check out more of his work at http://gottabook.blogspot.com.

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Posted 5/22/2009

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On Not Being Able to Say Aloud That WALKS KILL YOU

by Todd Herges

A dozen young boys,
caps colored alike,
dream diamond greatness
and shiny steel spikes.

But theirs are mere rubber,
no hair under arms.
They play just for love
and to earn coach’s charm.

Pitching is paramount.
Throwing strikes is the key.
Walks always kill,
issue two and you’ll see.

Don’t aim or you’ll miss,
hear the fat lady’s song.
The leash will be short,
the ump’s sweat stains grow long.

But these hairless boys
with soft cleats, fragile confidence,
hear the boos amid boosts,
and need upbeat assurance.

So I pick a distraction,
my disgust notwithstanding,
and I say:  “Nothin’ hurt,
mind your foot where it’s landing.”

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Posted 5/19/2009

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Long Toss

by Todd Herges

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On the occasion of a young daughter’s unaccompanied airline trip to Chicago

Quietly at the top of his cellular voice,
he calls out to the far-off teammate,
who waits with glove open wide, held chest-high:
“You ready?  Here she comes!”

Ball securely in hand he rears back, kicks high,
and in mental slow-motion lets her fly.
Hope mixes with regret
as he watches the precious pill leave his hand,
a gleaming streaming bullet
arcing eastward toward O’Hare.
His toss is long, thrown out of sight,
and satisfaction from seeing
the entire flight – from his fingers to distant mitt – is lost,
absent the echoed smack
of ball meeting leather.

Alone in his car two hours west of Omaha,
he hears the ball’s just-caught voice:  “I’m here.”
Each day will seem a year
until he safely catches her back again.

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Posted 4/20/09

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Kissing HER on the Strikes

By Todd Herges

With apologies to Dizzy Dean.

Spring Break is time for training to play ball
For players and a college couple, too.
But not on sun-drenched South Padre Isle,
And not in Havasu or cheap Cancun:
This boy and girl chose Cactus League for fun.
It could’ve been Vallarta for few pesos.
Instead, like pitcher’s wife and baby son,
They sit on metal bleachers swapping besos.

The sun shines down, the pitchers look for signs.
The umps yell “Foul!” when balls cross outside lines.
The batboys all learn what there is to know.
The shortstops practice how to cut a throw.
While players wait for cut lists, pace the halls,
One schoolboy hopes she’ll kiss HIM.

Posted 3/9/09.