He thought about joining the
Dead Poets Society
but he didn’t like the initiation
requirement,
so he decided just to continue
writing poetry from
this side of death’s door and
sit around and catch
the hard balls, soft balls,
curve balls and moth balls
(almost 7,000 spam balls)
tossed his way by way
of the internet highway —
ball four — take your base.
Batta up! Batta up! Batta up!
Harry Carey and Ron Santo,
the seventh inning stretch
and the Dead Announcer Society,
and the Cubs go on and on and
on.