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Monday, January 26, 2015

ivy clouds

from the cotton field
to wrigley field,
a tremendous hardship
that would ultimately yield
an icon.
stuffing  those bolls
into a sack
gave him the knack
for a sweet swing
that even made
the opposing team sing
his praises.
wiggling those fingers,
on the handle
of his bat,
was imitated
by every baseball
loving kid,
even though
they never knew
why he did.
a reflex,
a memory
that kept him humble
and aware.
the cubs will shine in ’69,
the cubs will come alive in ’65,
forever the optimist
but never crowned
a champion,
yet he played
with the heart
of a lion.
swatting  balls
over those
ivy covered walls,
“bingo-bango-bilko double play!”
that’s what the announcer
would say,
back in the day.
such a smooth stride,
a heavenly glide
to the bag,
ending with a laser beam
throw to first.
but all things end
and so did the sparkle
of his career.
he had to give up
the pastime
and the cheers,
which he held so dear.
from the negro league
to the majors,
he gave his all.
mr. cub proved
the doubters wrong,
with his gracefulness
in a game
played with
a little white ball.

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