Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Victor Henry- Two Poems


You were hitting below the Mendoza line
When you were designated for reassignment.

The concussion you survived behind the plate
Sent you down to the Minors,

Left you disillusioned and angry.
Ready to give up the game.

Angry at first it could happen to you
And second that it did happen to you.

Now you’re back in Majors
Peering over the dugout railing,

The backup catcher
Drives a ball deep into the right center field alley for a triple,

Sprains his thumb sliding head first into third base.
The head first slide

Ricky Henderson Perfected 1406 times.


A self-appointed censor nominated by a special interest group from Fairhope, Alabama, storms the steps of Capitol Hill in protest like a converted Cat Stevens no longer riding The Peace Train. In his left hand, on a fish platter, sits a soft sculpture head of Salman Rushdie. Delicately draped across his right forearm is an American flag. He looks as if he is moonlighting as a maƮtre' d at an annual association of aspiring ayatollahs. Around his neck hangs a placard stenciled in bold black letters which proclaims: I put a contract out on Martin Scorsese. Unconsciously, I reach into the flap pocket of my corduroy coat, rub my thumb across the pages of the paperback copy of THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST I've been carrying. I rush toward him, my book in hand. Because censors don't read, I can only hope this valiant champion of righteousness may have seen the video. All of a sudden, Mitch McConnel and Michele Bachman emerge brandishing prints of the late Robert Mapplethorpe's photography. What appears to be an art happening is nothing more than a cheap burlesque. As stereotypes merge, the intensity of the drama gradually decreases. The crowd, becoming more and more cerebral, realizes that instead of theater, it has been treated to another White House cartoon matinee

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