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BASEBALL POETRY

How It Was at Second
(for my father)
By Lynn Rigney Schott

 

"He tore it off like a chicken wing–see?
(a garland of scar around the thumb) cleats
high as Cobb's and me hanging in, skinny
as ever, ready to turn two, my meat
hand dangling like bait before those mean teeth.
As they carried me off the field he called,

'Hey, Four-eyes! What do you think about that?'
'Maybe the good Lord'll pick up the ball–
who knows? It's a long season on the grass,
you bastard.' In the end, in Boston, God
disguised as Musial lined a final blast
off his nose. I wired him a knowing nod."

He smiled, remembering to his daughter
the kick and the smirk of Enos Slaughter.

–EFQ


LYNN RIGNEY SCHOTT teaches English and creative writing at Kettle Falls High School in eastern Washington. Her father, Bill Rigney, was a major league infielder and manager. Her poems have appeared in Elysian Fields Quarterly, The New Yorker, Cutbank, Idaho English Journal, a number of baseball anthologies, and other publications.

© 2000 Lynn Rigney Schott

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