I admit it, still bitter about the baseball
cut. The Minors were my way out
and signs and coaches and sweethearts
all liked my chances. I was small
but had a damned hell lot of grit and
fast, man oh man, I could run down
those bases, throw far and catch with
the sun in my eyes- they put me anywhere.
All around Charlie, they said.
Well. I got around alright.
Coal grit never left the creases in
my neck, tattooed black stars under
the slag spark burns –a careless day
I’m mad about it still. Wasn’t much
good after that. Hit my wife and boy.
My little girl had to haul me home
from cousin Billy’s. Smart kid, she knew
when to hide in her room. Still, I rode
the bus down the hill to the river
made my way no matter what shift turn.
They paid us better once the union
came in. Looking back at how
they all turned out alright, I can’t take
much credit. They’re scattered now
even dead, they want no part of me.
I never said sorry but
they never asked.
Early Morning Poems 