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:
Nice poem, Zach. Baseball's tough to write about, at least for me. This poem has definitely sprung some rhythm.
So I just compared your poem to "The Windhover" and have to tip my hat.
Ta!
Nice.
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