by Estrid Balslev
I felt: A bee was swarming in my bonnet!
A voice said, “You’re a bard, so you must write
A real poem, full of spunk and bite.
In other words, you have to write a sonnet.”
“And what about?” I asked the eerie voice.
“On baseball,” was his firm and clear reply.
“Excuse me that I have to ask you why,”
I answered, but he said I had no choice.
“Of baseball I know less than does my cat,”
I said to him. “Come, let us have a chat
On other things that I might write about.”
He told me I had better close my snout
And just get going. Curse him! All the same,
I’m sure that baseball is a splendid game.
Estrid Balslev is a poet and performance artist from Denmark.
Published in Fans, Sonnets, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | No Comments