“Go, Cubs, Go”

I don’t write baseball poems. It isn’t a strength of mine. But, after a sentimental evening with John Prine, friends and my elated husband, I caved and wrote somewhat of a baseball poem for my husband. After, all, they are World Champions. Doesn’t that warrant a celebration? Let me know what you think.

For My Husband, in Chicago, 2016

We sit outside,
November cold
Sirens sound
crowds roar.
Red lights flash
So I can see
your boyhood dreams
gaze back at me.

Your elbow crooked
ball held tight
One knee raised.
Crack! It hits
the peeling boards.
Make-believe
bases stacked.
Stirrrikee Three! 

Our waiter spies
your champion cap,
while heated lamps
turn winter walks
to street parades.
From night to day
all adorned 
in blue and grey.

River flows
under feet.
Structures glow
in unity
and harmonies
of crowds
still roar like
echoes fading
more and more.

So, we recall,
Our Lake Marie.
Our flag decals
Our passion pleas
To dear Abby,
Abby, please
help us end
this dirty, war. 

Your blue eyes mist.
You touch my hand.
And we both know
who sent the rain.
By way of tears,
our voices join
somewhere between
the clouds and ground.

Yes, we both know
it's heavenly. 

Susan Ward Trestrail, 2016
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