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Bird's Blog

Poetry, musings, observations, commentary, rants, confessions...and who knows what else!

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Location: San Francisco Bay Area

Teacher, writer, poet, grandmother, lover, wine-drinker, chocolate eater, beach comber, hiker, traveler, Giants fan, San Franciscan. All work on this blog is copyrighted material.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Ode to Buster Posey

The runner flies down the third base line
With such reckless force he should be fined.
But willing is he to take a thoughtless chance
And alas our noble catcher cannot shift his stance.

Oh ignoble Cousins, what have you done?
Could you not have found a lane that was safe?
No, instead you ran pell mell
into our catcher at home plate.

The stands are quiet
The bats are still.
We hold our breath
muster our will.
And from the bleachers the chant begins:

Posey! Posey!
Posey! Posey!

And all across the ballpark
This chant gains force.
We chant until our voices are hoarse.
For we believe as we always have
That our shouts, our chants
Can sway the game
give our players fortune and fame
the opposing team grief and shame.
Our collective will can make Posey stand
And crush Cousins with an invisible hand.

But our lad has fallen.
Our lad is down.
His fist in vain pummels the ground.
Our voices falter, but not one fan sits down.

We fear the worst.
We know the dark.
Ah baseball gods, will ye not hark
to our collective will?
Make Posey stand, our wishes fulfill!

But our lad has fallen.
Our lad is down.
His fist pummels the ground.
Our faces in dismay still frown.

Oh Cousins, ignoble Cousins,
Some day great fear will you feel
When in the batter’s box you see
A ball coming swiftly toward your knee.
So fast, so furious you cannot move
And whether that ball strike you low or high
It will leave a lasting bruise
And make you cry and cry.

Then you will know a small measure of the pain you’ve caused
And perhaps next time that will give you pause
Before you barrel your two-bit game
Into a catcher of such noble fame!

For our lad has fallen, our lad is down.
But not forever and not for long
and someday again we will sing our song:

Posey! Posey!
Posey! Posey!

For we believe as we always have
that our Giants will rise and our Giants will win
on a glorious day so fair
for to think otherwise will plunge us into despair.

And when our Posey is on the mend
And he takes the field again
the opposing team will fall into his trap
and all of AT&T park will clap and clap.

But until Buster dons that catcher’s mask again
Messages of love we will send
To our lad so noble and so brave
temporarily undone by a callous knave.
And though our rookie of the year we now do lack
to our stalwart Posey we will remain true blue or actually orange and black.

Note: I've taken some poetic license here as I don't truly believe Cousins is a horrible fellow, but he must be vilified for dramatic affect - haha!

Copyright Birdstory Publications 2011

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Blogger chickory said...

boyed! nice to see you again, and your poetry. I shall send this on to my husband, that man from san fran who knows who these peoples is. I am glad to see you flap flap flappin' back!


June 23, 2011 5:52 PM  

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