I was asked just recently
Why I write the way I do.
Why write something...
So poignant and meaningful
Or chipper and comical.
Then turn around...
And hack someone to bloody pieces
Or show degradation and disrespect?


Why?


I write in left field and then in right field
I enjoy standing on the edge in center field.
I'll take the short-stop's way out
I'll slide into first.
I write for the injustices I see
I write tributes to the bat-boys.
I stand tall upon the mound
Then I steal second and maybe third.
You may find me at bat
For all to see.
Or alone in the locker room 
Sniffing used socks.
I write as a fan
Shouting obscenities.
I write at the bottom of a beer cup
Waiting for a concessioner to notice.
I check for spit-balls and corked bat
I check the labels on hot-dog packages.
I sit in the nose-bleed section
Or there on the third base line.
I get lost in the dug-outs
Thrashed in the bull-pens.
This stadium is beginning to bore me
So send my regards to Pete Rose.


I am the wandering poet
The never-ending nomad.
I travel from one team to another
Searching for the fire of enticement.


The glow from this grand spectacle
Captivates my senses for a short while
My deviation from the mean.


Don't ask me to remain in this stadium
For the trash-binds that now surrounds it
Call to me like a crack-pipe!


Breathe in the air that I am
Like me or not
I am poet.