Process
“What is your writing process? The workshop attendee asked.
The baseball poet is at double play depth
Waiting for a hard bouncing grounder,
Allowing the grinding early season game
To come to him; there is a real game
On the cable: two teams he cares little about.
The Pirates are desperately bad, maybe
The best stadium, maybe the worst team,
Everything wrong with America’s Pastime.
The Reds are promising, but not quite there.
Watchable young players, at least one star.
The baseball poet wants to visit their park,
Like Pittsburgh, a blue collar river town.
He remembers Mazeroski, Stargell, Clemente,
“We are family,” The Big Red Machine
Bench, Perez, torpedo sliding Pete Rose.
Before the river of money flowed to LA,
NY, Chicago, Boston, San Francisco.
The baseball poet waits with his heels
On the outfield grass, thinks of how to track
A popup, falling from darkness to light.
The Pirates stadium is lightly peppered
With hardcore fans. In a TV close up,
Their new manager studies his scorecard
As if he might find an answer there.
The baseball poet knows that nothing
Might happen, but he’s got to be there
If it does.
