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Another Saturday doomed to the pavilion
To watch the card school trick
The time allotted to the willow game.
Another Saturday to don waders and rubber hats
Instead of bleached pads and peaked caps.
To talk of warm seasons of memoried years
When the shy sun browned the muscled arms
And scorched score cards recorded well struck runs#
Another Saturday of lost gates, picketed by stinging stones of near ice
Of unmoved rollers and stretched sheets covering the clipped chain.
The sad sight of dripping seats and silent stands
Waiting, watching the pools, moon-cratered.
Another Saturday to hope for Another Saturday. |