Tag Archives: Regret

DANTE’S 9TH INNING STRETCH

DANTE’S 9TH INNING STRETCH

In life there are errors
errors and regrets
and then there is baseball

The ball off the end of the glove
the errant throw, any errant throw

The running into the other fielder
and the ball dropping between

The not being willing
to run into the other fielder
and the ball dropping between

The not tagging up at third

The easy dribbler down the first base line
and knees that won’t let you bend to pick

The ball that was called a strike
the strike that was called a ball

For Catholics there’s Purgatory
with constant replay of regret

For baseball fans
there’s late October to forever

QUESTIONS FOR THE NEXT SÉANCE

QUESTIONS FOR THE NEXT SÉANCE

Dearest Mother;

Sorry to disturb you
in your well deserved bliss,
but here’s a short list
of things that I forgot to ask

And if it isn’t too much trouble
I’d like the answers as detailed as possible

It will be understandable
if you can’t conjure up a voice,
but one rap for yes, and two for no,
on a floating table won’t quite do

However, if you can look up Samuel Morse,
(who may well be bored and available),
he can give you a quick-study course
and I will dust off my old Boy Scout manual

I believe “talk to me” In Morse still becomes:

-/•-/•-•/-•- -/— –/•

So, now that we’ve got the hang of it;

– What was the best day of your life
– What was your worst

– Your greatest triumph
– Your greatest disappointment

– What you are happiest that you did
– Saddest that you didn’t

Why exactly did my uncle shoot my dog

Whatever happened to my baseball
card collection, with the rookie
Mickey Mantle

and what is heaven like

BREATHING IN WINTER

BREATHING IN WINTER

In Saskatchewan in winter
your breath is certainly plain to see

And while I don’t actually believe the story
that you can warm it in a frying pan
and hear all the words again

I can’t help thinking how nice it would be
if I could just inhale really, really hard

And get back that awful dumb thing
I said to you this morning

THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY

THE FIRST MOTHERS DAY AFTER THE LAST MOTHERS DAY

Slowly it dawns on Sunday morning
that you didn’t call nearly often enough
and didn’t send nearly enough cards
or thank her nearly enough

And even if
you put the cattle racks
on the big grain truck
and filled it with flowers
till it ran over all four sides

Even if you drove it to the cemetery
and dumped the whole damn load
on her single rose grave
it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough