opening the day

ninth inning

when the game is over, the game’s about to start; hit the ball squarely with a flat bat, a burnt bat, a bunt bat, a bat that; leaves all across the trees coming in so you can’t see, signs are hidden, the season’s pared down till you recognize the season; ; the ball can be blue, or dead red, or yellow like a city siren, a ways off; being who you are means grasping things: memory’s digital; it shivers, coiled in fingers; when you watch highlights, things get hidden behind their own corners; being ready to bat is a focus like building; when the game is over, the game’s about to start; yet again for the first time

opening the day

eighth inning

what they would call, a record & history of base ball,
as in, scoreless innings;
dodging & dogging yr way across the crooked & deceiving
off-speed balls, so

bases on balls are killing
the killers, w phantom hits

however: runs aren’t batted in
they’re batted around; we
were drinking, an official scorer
yelling foul at fair hits
a long posture on the hard benches
... the wave
shimmers across
shouted his location
to the batter
& older umpires at a seasoned
fielder, raises his left hand
for a ball
a few games where he
didn’t play at all
because the issue still cdn’t
be resolved—

opening the day

seventh inning

an outstanding instance of paying attention to the situation
coming to the stretch
players are lured west by money
sent to first base, is a bit of drama
the pitcher’s arm action
was craggy,
automatic blood bank teller machine ...

asymmetrical

a gaff where a reserve clause
gives you a berth
down on the farm

a previous hitter
when distracting the catcher, across
his statistical profile
bluffs throwing to
the bleeding or stunned
cutoff man—

showing the hitter a photograph
should always advance
if the fans razz
one of the favorites, or
if no one batted home so many runs as
reports on the game
the bunt
seemed embarrassingly easy

opening the day

fifth inning

if the championship’s on the line
then you want the ball
an are, be I
single, they moved in the fences
a swing & a miss
good old country hard
ball & a strike—Bukka
White threw it w a resonator
right, by ya—
it took a funny hop,
a butcher-boy chop
everything you feel is, can’t find
a hitter
to drive home the lead-off man
a changeup (close to the zone

opening the day

fourth inning
(it’s not always easy to come by runs on opening day)


the charge!
call on the organ
skies it foul

first trip to the mound
the cutter away—
the one he got squeezed on

so, the runners move up
back to back—
they’re loaded

an old-fashioned pitchers’ duel:
grounded out
& flied out

the first time you saw him
swing the bat—
obviously, his mechanics

have changed . . .
a great amerikan ball, parked
it might go into, the ninth

he can go to the hammer:
you get the call
a fly ball falls in

two down and nobody out;
activity in both pull pens now,
ahead of the throw

go that way
w a shrug of the shoulder
so! from the stretch

inning over)))

opening the day

(third inning)

if he runs
you gotta go to first, if he
manages to foul it off ..
if you get the signal from 3rd, then
if the software's changing running,
how you see the game ...

if the groundskeeper has the grass
just short enuf, down the third-base line;
if the catcher muffs the throw,

if the wheels come off in the eighth, or
if the manager isn’t there for his guys;

if you see the mindset they’ve got
going into the tenth ...
if you can’t stand yr third-baseman;
if conditionality were part of
thinking, of going from
first to third—

opening the day

second inning

a big bouncer to first—
he looks like a ballplayer ...
trouble getting on the same page,
that’s when he was a heck of a hitter;
megadamage, sez a bulldog:
the power hasn’t transitioned to a record yet!

he takes third, but he jammed him, it put a zero
on the board. . . that lead-off walk?
here you go big fella he’s throwing everything
but the kitchen sink

he’s swingin from the on-deck circle
that’s when he gets himself out

that’s not the get-me-over breaking pitch:
try to catch up with that!
it’s not about
individual game
numbers

opening the day

first inning

the world blinks, in a powered Series
like a club that can steal, slashed windup that seals
the deal,
an impressive part of a rookie:
making the ball a little less lively
they’re trying to claw their way
into contention, out of slatted lost clock-free
stumbleblooming
--ask anyone, where the grass inhabits
ghosts with logos like fears with bat speed
& are they still in the un nationalized
league? right thru the hitting zone
you worry about slow-scale war, the set line-up

& those who patrol, are platooning
. . . a utility guy
gets thru spring ;
average attendance is up
& a ground ball flies

opening the day

[pre-game show]

you mash on the starter,
a wink at the day that
slamming good wishes into
perfervid right-center
fields? it’s not just
not being a donkey
maybe if the don
or donation flows
further into
interstices, you’re a key
rampant at
the edge: sound of the hand
on leather
waiting to turn two
unassisted triple play
ing at the grassed verge;
faster the slider
the harder it gets
to see where a double-switch
can reach:
lineups gonna circle around
catch as catch can
last hand, at top of bat,
pick my team (teaming
pick,
ax)