by Earl J. Wilcox
I know I can divorce you,
being unfaithful and untrue.
This late June—barely real
summer yet—you tease me
with a rare afternoon win,
heat up the Division for a day
or so, cause me to sweat &
and swear I will never leave you.
Lately, tho, you break my heart.
I feel deceived when you bring up
players from the farm team, send
down better hitters you’ve been
flirting with. Last week, I
almost went to seek a lawyer
when you simply rolled over
for a bush-league, slutty team.
What happened to our spring trainin’
plans, hopes, and dreams, that you’d be
faithful this season, give me your
best, not waste scarce money on
players like that stud from out west--
You know the one I mean—look what
it got us. Hank Williams was right
about cheatin’ hearts, they do tell
on you, make us feel so lonesome
we could die. I’m getting’ in my truck,
pick up some brewskis no matter what
some say, there’s a lot of crying in baseball.
Growing up country in the American South, Earl Wilcox thrives on Cardinals baseball, Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, and some Elvis.
