I hope they bring the spectators
more of the memories I have thrown
in my spotted career: the high fastball
shattering the windshield of a tailgate,
the curve inviting the bat into nothing
but dirt, the knuckleball leaving them
swinging helpless from the knees.
The poems are only the complete games,
the chapbooks the seasons, the titles
a career. I hope you remember me
as Nolan Ryan, wild and hit hard sometimes,
erratic but with an arm that could stymie
hitters and probably tigers. Remember
the no-hitters. There are a few of them
on my resume among the errant passes.
Balance the victories against the losses,
walk to the mound and see if you can
do any better. And then walk proud out there
and do it.
