—SOMEBODY’S GOTTA DO IT

 

 

TV with the Sound Off

 

On the tube 

his favorite player 

is at the plate 

eyeing the sky 

unsure whether to 

     swing 

perhaps perfecting his timing 

or maybe thinking of a lover 

he’ll never be able to 

     hold 

     enough 

because he’s always on the road 

there is always another stadium 

another game another fucking 

      strike 

Quit your fucking dreaming and 

      watch! 

I’ve misdiagnosed his mood again 

his temper which always 

starts as a slow boil 

burping up bourbon that 

wears a flame and bares a 

       brand

that can burn right through 

        skin 

mar or monogram a perfect thigh

but then Praise God! 

forty-two gets a 

        hit 

a moonball sent 

over the stands and 

into the hidden

       drink

I’d clap but I’m 

shielding a piss 

       stain 

with one hand

with the other I’m making 

a mitt to catch whatever’s 

thrown my way 

as his throat does that 

choking kitten sound which can 

       mean 

       anything 

but never does