world series

She fell in love with the sounds of baseball in late fall –
those of the game itself: the thick crack of a ball against wood,
the crunchy grind of dusty slide to base,
the smack of fast leather into a catcher’s mitt.
but also: the quiet commentary of the local announcers,
with their odd turns of phrase – analytical slapstick –
the interesting but completely irrelevant statistics, and
the slow steady pace during which fans learn
so much about each player, the sum of his life story
unfolding with each run or pitch or swing of the bat
to be tallied forever on a grimy scorecard.


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