For years we had fun together,
Hitting balls as far as we could,
My swing graceful like Griffey's,
Bending you to my will, conducting
Your arc through space like a maestro.
Now I hold you with a grip even firmer,
This time swinging you into the wood,
Shedding every deranged thought
In my bloated head, sedating every
Spark of anger my delirium has fused.
The poor tree also bears the punishment,
Its bruise getting bigger with each whack,
The letters on your barrel, once as legible
As the face of a youth, smearing into blue,
Fading back into the memories we shared.
It's a curious axiom, I struggle to surmise
Why we always take out our pain on things
Weaker than ourselves, and the ones who hurt us.
You were innocent, like I was, and the tree,
Wishing you'd been wooden, like he.
Tuesday, March 20, 2001
The Aluminum Bat
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