Another Year in the Minors

April

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

May

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

June

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

July

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

August

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

September

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.

    Like

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

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