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.
Photo By: @Doug88888