Lou Lipsitz: Poetry

Why Baseball Doesn’t Matter

no, it’s not because the game is so slow,
that the pitcher has to step down off the mound,
pick up the resin bag, adjust his hat, adjust
his pants, pound his glove a few times,
step back onto the rubber,
then peer down and get the signal from the catcher,
shake off a sign or two, finally nod approval,

and only then rear back and unleash
the ball at ninety miles an hour and that
this happens over and over, more than
one hundred times a game.

nor is it that basketball
has more action, the guys gliding down court
like dragonflies in a mating dance
sliding and angling, leaping and signaling,
instant subtleties, starts and stops, quick
hesitations and then the dart toward the basket
and the smashing slam dunk. no.
nor that football has that military vibe,
getting the tanks into position,
and the “bomb” lofted downfield, nor the
grim drama of the goal line stand
like trench warfare, some beachhead
in world war II, the young men face down
in the sand.

and it’s not that america’s
changed. it’s not the steroid homeruns, not
those million dollar player salaries, not too
many expansion teams, not the glitzy showoff
gold chains around their expensive necks.
not the greedy owners, not that the dodgers
left brooklyn and the braves left boston or
the...what was it...left where?

it’s that the wind, pulling
its red blanket of dust, has swept
over my face.

i felt the black edges
of night, like a curled fern leaf about
to unfold, and then the small green insect
settled on my hand and i lifted it
and watched it, suddenly, fly from me
like a knuckle ball.
and i stood up and looked around

and found myself alone and stretched,
the long seventh inning stretch
as the tiny night lights appeared

over this mysterious, damaged
and generous world.