Foul ball
By Patrick T. Reardon
.
Before he was a prophet, Yogi
Moses played baseball and, one
dry Sunday morning, took his
catcher’s mitt out to Agamemnon
Field for newspaper stunt to
boost attendance in sleepy May
Cincinnati and, as baseball
thundered down to him on a
line from advertisement hot-air
balloon, circled, circled, circled
under the growing dot, like just
another high foul, and reached
out for the stitched horsehide.
Broke his hand.
.
Patrick T. Reardon
9.2.21
This poem originally appeared Elevation Review in August, 2021.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.
