‘It’s not fair.’
– Aubrey Huff
Take life, whatever it is, one broken
spoke at a time. Rosy-fingered
appendectomy, rusty five-day dawn.
Look, we do what we can.
By we, I mean fans.
I mean the Organization.
I mean the fingers
required to throw a cutter.
Men want to be you –
though that’s not the point,
men want to be everything –
but have you ever tried on a new pair of jeans
and thought: I want this close to me?
By you I mean: 8.0 IP 5 H 2 R 1 ER 3 BB 4 SO.
If something truly loves you
it comes back with an inside fastball.
By you I mean a four-door family sedan,
crack in the sunroof where the light
comes in. If you let something go and it
loves you, it comes back at its shiny best.
I’m the worst kind of fair-weather
love letter. Hubcap of need,
we’re all out of polish
and spit’s not gonna work.