Greenness

This morning, I practiced my Hall of Fame speech

while you were still sleeping. I’ve settled it:

When I die, I will become a baseball specter,

haunting coin-operated batting cages.

Starting at my closing breath, I’d only exist inside

the chain fences while I pulverized the pitching equipment.

On my first day, you said that I could be anything

I hungered for. Do you remember when I said

I wanted to be a triceratops? Do you remember

all the late night tape sessions that you couldn’t grasp?

Years later, I never told you that greenness was contagious.