I want to turn on an inside pitch.
I want to feel the ball against my bat.
I want to feel a death like that.
I read my daughters Cat In The Hat,
thought I was a good dad; that was rich.
I want to turn on an inside pitch.
I lost myself in husband fat,
dreamed of dusty diamonds, that old itch.
I want to feel a death like that.
I’ve sat where the players sat,
bitched where the players bitch.
I want to turn on an inside pitch.
The pitcher glares at me, tugs his hat.
I want to knock him in a ditch.
I want to feel a death like that.
Somewhere, my swing has lost its hitch.
Somewhere, my belly and the land are flat.
I want to turn on an inside pitch.
I want to feel a death like that.
-- James Cummins
