Wednesday, July 30, 2008

2008 at Great American Ball(p)ark

Sticky sweet melody sings a river's waves
Makes canorous banks of two states,
Her weighted wet air sends baseballs soaring
Riverboats, speed boats, barges, jet skis
Passing the Queen in her summer glory
As fans pass through the pearly red gates

Their red robes worn gaily with wanton innocence
Their mouths wet with prodigal pleasure
Their eyes wooed by magnanimous hues of a game worn by time
Spending their wad in this moment of leisure
Spending it all to the very last dime
Spending it all to the very last cent

Their talismans turned inside out
The weary fans pray and shout and worship in the pews of legends
A choir thirty thousand strong
Sings the hymns of the Machine
Oh how it turned and cranked and burned!
And now?

The stockings they follow, the mighty, the just
Stumble behind the raging Cubs in pinstriped suits and bank accounts
Stumble behind the lager, the birds,
The thieves of the sea who are always the worst
And those who impersonate space safari
They, too, fly higher than our redlegged weary.

Muscles mangled by a mounded marauder
A breaking pitch as black and parlous
As a sea swallowed by eternal night
Another pitch - a swinging strike
Another game has come and gone
Another season lost and done

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