Another Year in the Minors


Between pitches, the left fielder
counts the green threading slow
through last year’s yellow grass


Behind him the lilacs shiver
at his passage, scent each throw
back to the infield with desire


Scuffing his toes at the grass,
he’s lost all of April’s numbers
in the entropy of green fields


No rainouts, no doubleheaders—
the lilacs rattle in the dry heat
as he tracks flies into the night


The crack of ball into bat now
like thunder aborted, his glove
draws all the white arcs down


He’s been camped under fly balls
forever here on yellowing grass;
roots twisting in dust underfoot

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Autumn, Baseball, Cosmology, Gravity, John MacKenzie, Language, Lilacs, Mathematics, Memory, Minor league baseball, New poems, Physics, Poem tweets, Poetry, Sabermetrics, Space, Spring, Summer, The Sky and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Another Year in the Minors

  1. tankawanka says:

    Ah, the annual return of the baseball metaphor, a sure sign, a sure sign.


  2. Pingback: Video reading of Another Year in the Minors | Mumbling Jack

Mumble back at me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s