Poet on the Mound

By Mark Blackburn

I am in the bullpen
warming up for
the first game
of a new season.
Is the old arm
still up to it?

I throw a few dactyls,
a few trochees.
The catcher calls for
an iamb.
I oblige.
Shakespeare had
nothing on me.

I see the Commissioner
up in a big oak tree
in left field
with a telescope.
He looks puzzled.

I throw four more iambs
to hit the mitt.

I look over at the bench.
I see Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth,
Joe DiMaggio, Jackie Robinson,
Ted Williams.

Good heavens.

Also Stan Musial,
Hank Aaron, Willie Mays,
and Mickey Mantle.

I take off my hat in respect.

This won’t be easy.

But wait til they see
my slider, my sinker,
my screwball.

Not to mention
my dactyl,
my anapest.

Good luck, fellas!

Footnote on meter

iamb……………….duh-DUH……….as in “describe”
trochee……………DUH-duh………..as in “custom”
spondee…………..duh-duh………….as in “cupcake”
dactyl……………..DUH-duh-duh…as in “horrible”
anapest……………duh-duh-DUH…as in “understand”

iambic pentameter: five iambs…..as in “That time of year thou mayst in me behold.”

 
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