Where is the sandlot?
As he strolled purposefully
Stale taco breath belch
Heartburn acetous attitude
Storm skies pelt acrid drops
Of singed molecular charges
Olfactory assault response
He puddle stepped oblivious
Under breath muttering
Lost in acrimonious revery
When blinding flicker daggers
Costumed creator alarms
Too late to move flattened
He stumble arises
In front of "The Lightning Flashes" sign
Above a dimly lit store front
A cynical scowl wilts the olive branch
As He slaps open the door
He turns a sickly gray pallor and stares
There wax figure perfect
Stands a round be spectacled boy
Bat and ball ready
A surreal smile highlights
Single motion wings
A Ted Williams Baseball
Instinctive hand mitt reacts
As the ball pops a crimson crack
Two curved fingers red seams caress
Grass stained orb returned wrist whip
To a gleeful spectre
Repeated at least a gross
Angry lips part upward, upward
As the last pitch leather smacks
He turns to leave amid mutual laughter
Awakened he smiles puddle drenched
Two fingers curled red seams arched
'Round a grass stained Ted Williams baseball
Poetry by Kee Zealy
Read 450 times
Written on 2009-03-17 at 12:35
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Must Have Been the Tacos
As he strolled purposefully
Stale taco breath belch
Heartburn acetous attitude
Storm skies pelt acrid drops
Of singed molecular charges
Olfactory assault response
He puddle stepped oblivious
Under breath muttering
Lost in acrimonious revery
When blinding flicker daggers
Costumed creator alarms
Too late to move flattened
He stumble arises
In front of "The Lightning Flashes" sign
Above a dimly lit store front
A cynical scowl wilts the olive branch
As He slaps open the door
He turns a sickly gray pallor and stares
There wax figure perfect
Stands a round be spectacled boy
Bat and ball ready
A surreal smile highlights
Single motion wings
A Ted Williams Baseball
Instinctive hand mitt reacts
As the ball pops a crimson crack
Two curved fingers red seams caress
Grass stained orb returned wrist whip
To a gleeful spectre
Repeated at least a gross
Angry lips part upward, upward
As the last pitch leather smacks
He turns to leave amid mutual laughter
Awakened he smiles puddle drenched
Two fingers curled red seams arched
'Round a grass stained Ted Williams baseball
Poetry by Kee Zealy
Read 450 times
Written on 2009-03-17 at 12:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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