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Poem: “Foul ball”

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


This poem originally appeared Elevation Review in August, 2021.

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