Tags
ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, baseball, Jennifer, Lou Gehrig, poetry, Rob Holland, White Sox
Sox up, 3-1
Top of the seventh inning
I sit, watching, when
I should be doing ten miles
My spirit says “Go!”
but diastolic preload
has me on the shelf
Konerko manning first base
Dotel on the mound
Twins committed three errors
The kids are napping
after getting up early
to see their Easter baskets
I think of old friends
who won’t rise on the third day
All of the mistakes
and dreams I let die, blindly
I think of being
at Old Comiskey, watching
Carlton Fisk taking
batting practice, launching balls
into the upper deck
Konerko takes the throw
there’s two out, nobody on
I think of Lou Gehrig
covering first for the Yanks
as his synapses
melted away, leaving him
slumped on the dugout
steps as Tigers fans
gave a standing ovation
Now on to the eighth
I hear a little voice call
“Dada!” I look up
and see my wife there
and I realize
I am the luckiest man
on the face of the earth.
Radical Totality 