For Love of the Game

I was late to the game,
seventh inning at least,
a set-up guy for the set-up guy
for those who closed the deal,
who had all the pitches
and a feel for it all.
I was obsessed with the quest,
the how-to, watching from
the bullpen or giving up
the home run to the lover boys.
The girls really do love
the long ball. But that’s the game,
their rules, my inadequacies,
a Single-A rag-arm who wouldn’t
know what to do if he ever
made it to The Show, shaking
off all her signs and inevitably
being sent back down where
my love of the game of love
got lost among all my other losses
over those lonely nights
between Helena and the Bigs.

Sorry I’m late for Poem #26 of Poem-A-Day April. Destroyed my phone and painted away the rest of the day. Was prompted for a love or anti-love poem. Not sure I have either here, just a metaphor for a guy with a 58-foot high school curveball and a BP fastball when it came to the game of love.

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