A while ago, I was watching the Giants in the World Series and I wrote down every unintentionally poetic-sounding thing Tim McCarver said. We don’t really publish poetry on here, but since spring training is starting, and since I’m pretty sure most of the contemptible nerds who run literary journals don’t even have the pretentious dilettante’s interest in sports I have, I’m publishing it here.
We have seen more broken bats this post-season
Kindling for the winter.
That driving mist is a mist
Wet like rain
But a mist
Which is wet on the field like rain.
It’s the guys who can breathe.
It’s the guys who have moisture in their mouth.
The water goes down in lumps.
I live in the real world, not fantasy, pal.