Put Me In, Coach Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Two dollar beer is the life for me,
Because I don’t have the memory but for
One or two things:
I used to cut paper and make snowflakes
And airplanes;
And there are very little things that I still do:
I held off writing poetry for ten years,
And then alone beside pool light I wrote poetry
And bled ketchup for you in the Tallahassee graveyard
I took my students too on Halloween:
They don’t allow me to teach anymore, but that is
Nothing to brag about,
Or like the stories I make up to keep from feeling alone
At night:
And you still live in the student ghetto:
You still live beside the youth lights, and they still hold
Celestial baseball games for you:
Your bullpen is so packed, but you don’t even sell
Wine-
My hair is gray now- my love has struck out,
But the amber greased bat is still in my hands in the rain
And moon light;
And I’ll keep swinging over the hair lip of the canal,
Thrashing the alder berries and tulips like as if I
Were really Mexican,
Writing poetry every night,
Because I am still ready to play.