Turn and Face the StrangeJanuary 16, 2016
Being a Marshall Tucker man,
the second baseman tucked his hair
behind his ears and hacked hot gobs
of brownblack juice unto the bag
and kicked the talcum-ed infield dirt:
“I guess that rebel song’s okay
and I sort of like the changes,
the rest of it is kind of gay,
and they say that shit’s contagious.”
I grunted in the feral way
boys sometimes do when at a loss.
Coach fungo-ed out another ball —
it whipped white and I wheeled and tossed.
Like Maxvill and Mazeroski
we made art of the double play —
it felt like that in the moment.
And there were things I couldn’t say
so I smiled at my opponent.
And that night we played Speedwagon
and drank cheap beer up at the lake.
And spoke no more of Ziggy’s hands
and spoke no more of my mistake.
But when I tuned up my guitar,
all alone in my bedroom,
I’d fallen from an alien star
draped in a Pierrot costume.