"Hot Dogs" [by Jim Cummins]

Hot Dogs

1

Noses, lips, intestines, anuses—
With relish I bite into the hot dog
Slathered in mustard, ketchup,
And, well, relish …

                                If every hot dog
Takes five minutes off your life,
I figure I’ll die a week early.
I can live with that.
                                The crack
of the bat!  Oh shit, mustard
All over my shirt.  I can live with
That.

2

They call him a hot dog,
This shortstop who flips his bat,
Pounding his chest
After a home run,
Even the wind-blown cheapie
Someone in the stands
Throws back onto the field,
Unimpressed.
                              His self-
Regard almost echoes
In the vast space
Before the sparse crowd.

3

There aren’t many fields left.
Outside the stadium,
Parking lots & bars,
Where you can watch the game on TV.

4

It’s the 4^th of July.
After the parade, the dads put on
Witty aprons & fire up the grills.
Somehow, it’s not the same.

Comments

[Denise Duhamel]

LOVE THIS POEM!!!!!!!!!!

[jim c]

DD, thanks! I SO wish you and Bob lived in Cincinnati. You know, it's a newly-emerging-gem of a place, quiet but buzzing, and in a couple of years the ocean will probably make it all the way up to the Ohio River. Whaddya think? xxxooo