Iron Mountain ski jump

Iron Mountain ski jump

Saturday, June 23, 2018

MAJOR LEAGUE-a poem [Sat, 6-23-18]

When I compare myself
To a ball player

Even the one who sits
At the far end of the bench

The twenty-fifth man, making
A million bucks, minimum

Just to sit there and perhaps warm up
The relief pitcher, who makes twenty mil

I growl that all he does
Is play a game

While I, who did not make a million
Were all my paychecks

From all my years, added
Up and given an inflationary fart

I say that I at least did
Worthwhile stuff

Teaching people
To be good

While this multi-millionaire
Just plays a game

Then I remember
That joy is the end of life

Ballplayers bring joy
And passion and exultation

And memories, yes, don’t forget
Memories, for joy goes long

The homer, the perfect game
The headfirst slide, the broken record

Ah, yes, records, the first left-handed man
From Altoona to run from first to third

While reading Milton [Not Berle; the other one]
And eating a ham sandwich

I wonder if anyone who heard me
Preach was ever joyful

Or ever remembered to be good
Then I think perhaps I was overpaid.

John Robert McFarland

No, I’m not breaking my vow to write no more forever. I scratched this out ten years ago.

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