Old Man Poems
It was the year I hit
A blackjack home run in June
And the cab drivers that gambled
Out by left field brought me
A shoe box half full of dollar bills.
Nights I wasn’t chasing something else,
I’d go home to the house we’d rented
On the mountain, and she’d fetch beers
To the back porch where we’d watch
The lights across the valley
And I’d tell her the lie I’d told ten years,
How we were gonna make it to the show.
But the Class D was all too easy:
The daddy spanked Baptist town girls,
The one pitch country farm hands,
And though my swing busted everything,
My boyfriend shot left foot staggered me,
Caged me, destroyed my soul.
Class D, and the D stood for despair.
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