The Prime of Mr. Vladimir Guerrero

By Stuart Shea

Standing tall and smiling, a friendly Angel with no halo,
Vladimir Guerrero.
It’s hard to believe he once was an Expo.

It hurts just to watch him run,
Gobbling turf with gigantic strides,
Hobbling on rusty knees.

Still lets baseballs loose like cannon fire,
Nailing some runners and
Scattering buckshot into the stands.

Tattoos pitches wherever they’re thrown,
High in the zone or at his ankles,
Just like Clemente.
And I’ll tell you what rankles—we’re ignoring him.

We’re watching a great player RIGHT NOW.
See that line-drive triple? How he legged it out, limping like a war vet,
Sliding in, a big grin,
Clapping his hands?
For God’s sake, people, stand up for the man!!

Posted 4/30/08 

Published in Free Verse, Los Angeles Angels, Players, Stu Shea | Link to this poem | No Comments

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