October handshakes with Mantle
after the shelling, our board bats basked
below an Indian summer sun
as we ham squatted and handle sanded
behind the grain elevator barn.
when wood was velvet
and pine tar treated,
father refreshed the rules
for the new season.
crib side singles,
ground rules main roof,
elevator planks three baggers,
round trippers clean over.
as my slugger slumbered
upon an overalled shoulder
before the opening day toss,
I marveled at the over-forty,
city champion,
softball shortstop,
purring dewed corncobs
over the Elysian dome.
my under-ten,
tenderfoot frame floundered futilely
for singles and fluke doubles
bestowed by the whitewashed monster.
scores of stranded shadow runners
cursed me from imaginary base paths
as I listened once again
to the country kid chronicle
of the October handshake
with Mantle
at the Series
with grandfather.
black-and-white heroes
bearing romantic recollections
settled softly about us
with fine shelling dust,
and cracking cobs
composed a courtship ballad
between the harvest eve
and the prairie night.