-the Hall-of-Famer-

Herein I'll state my case for

enshrinement to the Hall of Fame,

the Baseball Hall of Fame because

in the summer of 1953

I made that catch in left;

runners on second and third,

two outs in the ninth,

the line-drive on a frozen rope

cracking the atmosphere

off the lightning bat

of Johnny Santos,— my sneakers

on the run toward the gap

closing-in on the fence,

the chain-link fence neck–

high and brutal;

my young, skinny right arm

extending as high as can be

expected of muscle and bone,

toe-tips brushing the blades of grass

bending in the wake, the glove

wide-open like the brown-skinned

nestling screaming for a taste of the worm,

the stinging 

slap of the baseball

nabbed in the skin-thin pocket

the rawhide knotted, Rawlings five-finger

closing-in,–– closing-in,

squeezing

the life out of it.

Columbus Park / 1953