for Jason
It wasn’t long ago, less than a year
that I slipped on this batting glove
twice a week all summer, the same grubby
glove that sits before me now
was then new, bought to reduce
the shock of rough vibration when my aim
was off, which was most times,
but Jason kept on pitching me,
made fun of my blinding
Alaska-Irish legs; he stepped up
every game, even when the strike zone eluded
and when he smiled, the whole team laughed,
and when he got down, I felt the drag from first
and punched my glove thinking, Shake it off
buddy, shake it off
Jason, I remember the day
you showed up with a new bat for the team
We named it Ex-Caliber; it shone white
in the sun and I fawned over it to let you know
how nice it was: none had money to spare, on this team
composed of writers, waiters, and bartenders
I don’t remember if you wore
batting gloves that Saturday morning
we hard-core bar leaguers were out
once again to shag a few balls and
shake off our Friday-night sins,
when you took Ex-Caliber
in hand and swung,
felt the barrel plastic give
instead of bounce
I don’t know if you felt the sting,
but I remember that forlorn look on your face
trying to tough it
as you ran a finger along the crack;
it is the same look I wear now when I remember
the Chugach Mountains yawning around our little diamond
and think of your charming smile,
which I will never see again
Our first softball meeting is Sunday. We’re sponsored by the Blue Fox this year, and Brad ordered us hats that say “JW.” God, it’s going to be weird without him.
Also: the image of the mountains yawning is so beautiful…perfect.
I like this poem especially the analogy b/w the crack on the baseball bat and the look of the writer. Its beautiful. Well written indeed.