Fiction   Essays   Poetry  The Ten On Baseball Chapbooks In Memory

Ed Markowski

Ticket to Desire

back then
we woke early
found the pantry,

a ten pound
bag of flour
vanished at dawn,

while momma slept
we laid baselines
from the banks

of banana creek
to mister metzger's
blue 47 willy's,

two hundred thirteen
feet down the
right field line,

two hundred ten
feet down the
left field line,

and two sixty seven
to dead center,
marked by mister kinnard's
rusty snowplow.

we played all day
until the sun fell
past the windows

of the abandoned
auto glass factory,

"i'm mays, i'm clemente,
i'm killebrew, i'm kaline,
i'm marichal, i'm mantle."

a prayer that issued
from the hearts of
eighteen junior sorcerers,

wandering through an
eerie decade of assasination,
and rock, and war,

each and every one
secretely hoping
the ball would land

in mrs. sjo's yard
so he could hop the fence
and steal a glance,

of her beautiful twins
washing dishes in
the kitchen window,

before a vase
of wild daisies.

back then, ours
was a league
where a short foul ball

got you more
than a
grand slam,

back then, ours
was a league
where a short foul ball

bought you
a one way ticket
to desire.

©2004 by Ed Markowski

Ed Markowski lives and writes in Auburn Hills, Michigan. His work has been published in The Birmingham Poetry Review, Sho, The Elysian Fields Quarterly, Fan Magazine, and Modern Haiku. Haiku Sun Zine's January issue (#10) featured Ed's short poetry exclusively.

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