Poem for Tuesday and Baseball Stadium

Clothespins
By Stuart Dybek

I once hit clothespins
for the Chicago Cubs.
I'd go out after supper
when the wash was in
and collect clothespins
from under four stories
of clothesline.
A swing-and-a-miss
was a strike-out;
the garage roof, Willie Mays,
pounding his mitt
under a pop fly.
Bushes, a double,
off the fence, triple,
and over, home run.
The bleachers roared.
I was all they ever needed for the flag.
New records every game—
once, 10 homers in a row!
But sometimes I'd tag them
so hard they'd explode,
legs flying apart in midair,
pieces spinning crazily
in all directions.
Foul Ball! What else
could I call it?
The bat was real.

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I had a Tuesday that felt like a Monday, since I didn't get a lot of chores done yesterday -- laundry, bathroom cleaning, thrilling things like that. I had a bunch of photos to sort and files to organize, and we took a walk to the beach in the cool afternoon drizzle. In the evening we watched some more Warrior Nun, which has gone from surprisingly good to really great. 

My Voyager group is taking a couple of months off to watch Picard season 3, and I have to admit that as much a I disliked the first season, I really enjoyed the first episode of this one for nostalgic reasons regardless of anything else. I had so much fun at the stadium last night, with its views of the mountains and downtown as well a sports stuff, that I wanted to post some more: