03/30 Greener Grass

This poem came from a workshop I taught where you take an idiom and try to flip it around, here’s my attempt at that.

Greener Grass

I remember the wind

How it carried the ball

Pushed it higher than it should’ve been

Me, running to the fence two, three times.

The outfield is a place for no man who doesn’t like to run

But I do.

Careening  arc of the ball

A rocket aimed from infield desert sand to outfield forest grass.

 

That day we played against the travel team.

Every single player with new Mizuno sponsored gear,

Pressed all black matching leather gloves,

Fitted ball caps with stitched on numbers

Stitched last names between shoulder blades on starch clean jerseys.

We, were not that type of travel team.

Derelict jerseys with the ironed on numbers peeling away.

Snap back hats, before their revival, that were all larges

Some kids had to have the plastic tabs down on the last button

Plastic X on the back of their heads,

tan lines in our red necks.

Various ranges of gear

Nick with his doctor dad actually sprang for a custom bag with our logo on it.

James with his pastor father didn’t even have a bag, just a mitt on the end of his bat.

Me, somewhere in between

A new bat for Christmas but cleats a half size too small, didn’t need to lace them

 

They say the grass in greener on the other side.

This grass, spray paint perfect.

Squared groomed outfield, raked and water sprayed infield.

The Diamondbacks versus the Silver Spoons.

Actually they were the Braves

But we all knew their actual team name.

We were snakes in the grass

Able to strike without being seen.

Bottom of the order batting around each inning.

Us spraying their fielders everywhere from the plate.

Them, shut down by our 70 mile hour hurling future high school quarterback.

Pleased to pile back into carpooled vans for pizza after beating the Silver Spoons.

Me picking perfect green grass out of my cleats and flinging it out the window.

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