Ode to Jackie Robinson
Papa Joe's Big Red
is my kinda merlot.
Like koi rippling the muscular surface
of a Columbian drug cartel's afternoon pond
shadowed by various Roman statues
cupping their algae-covered breasts
and pissing on the hyacinths.
This merlot,
sister or lover?
You decide.
Fate was never
my strong suit.
This fate who never ceases to amaze me.
This fate who once threw nasty curveballs
at God's heavily-padded shinbones
blocking the plate
whenever Jackie Robinson
tried to steal home.
This fate sitting beside me right now,
tipping her third crystal glass
of Papa Joe's Big Red.
Alan Britt
Posted over on Ascent Aspirations
No comments:
Post a Comment