Friday, June 18, 2010

MAGIC MAN

to John McDonald, after Hopkins

I caught this morning's highlight reel sens-
   ation, sensei of the second sack, prime
   pivot's dazzle and dash, flop, flip, quicklime-,
grass- and dirt-grimed shirt, shy grin flashed, defence
maestro catching all comers like a chainlink fence.
   No gilding for his great glove in this high time
   of silver slugging guildsmen, but, oh, sublime
the achieve of, the mastery of this diamond prince!

Consigned to ride pine for lack of thunder
   in his lumber, no grief or gripe, no slack-
sailed slump drags his practised hustle under.

   No less we've come to expect, Johnny Mac,
and yet we gasp, goggle and, awed, wonder
   how you render routine the miraculous act.

4 comments:

Ian LeTourneau said...

Nice poem, Zach. Baseball's tough to write about, at least for me. This poem has definitely sprung some rhythm.

Brenda Schmidt said...

So I just compared your poem to "The Windhover" and have to tip my hat.

Zachariah Wells said...

Ta!

Jason said...

Nice.