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F. John Sharp
An April Paean
Dear God, thank you for the harmless
360 on that icy bridge, for not
seizing my heart as I cleared a path
during the blizzard, for all the times
I ate grapes without choking,
and swam without drowning,
for keeping away the hoodlums
when I got lost downtown, for
the awesome GFCI outlet
in the bathroom, and especially for
the pilot who dropped that 727
onto the runway in a gusty crosswind
while 173 of us held our collective breath,
because you know the only thing
I ever pray for is Opening Day and
Dear God, here we are.
Baseball Loves You Back
She knows you tucked the
transistor under your pillow,
she planned it, seducing you
in Harwell's voice, painting
in your ear the art of Kaline
Cash, Lolich, Horton,
beckoning you to dirt patches
where right field was out and
your brother pitched to
both sides, introducing
you to a minor league
infielder who gave you tickets
and an autographed ball,
creating the sacred shrine at
Michigan and Trumbull
where you tossed peanut
shells under your seat and
fruitlessly waved your
glove at every foul ball,
tuning ash on horsehide
to the key of perfect.
©2015 by F. John Sharp
F. John Sharp lives and works in the Cleveland, Ohio area. He is fiction editor for Right Hand Pointing and his work and blog can be found at FJohnSharp. He also plays the drums and penny whistle.
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