I've used Eliot's poem like a "drying rack," replacing socks here, underpants there, with my own just-washed words.
“I saw with my own eyes Rodriguez in the batting cage, & when the boys said to him, ‘A-Rod, what do you want?’ that one replied ‘I want to win’.”
(For Ezra Pound, il miglior fungo.)
1. The End of the Season
October is the baseball month, breeding
Homeruns out the dead land, mixing
Statistics & cheers, stirring
Singles with double plays.
Winter bored us, only
Football on TV, basketball
Eating up the Spring.
Summer surprised us, coming over Lake Michigan
With a shower of rain; we stopped in Memorial Park
And went on in sunlight, into the Stadium,
And drank beer, and bought a scorecard.
I am not really a Yankee fan, I’m for the Mets.
And when we were children, staying at Grandma’s,
My cousin, he took me on the subway,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, it’s the next stop. And up we went.
In the upper deck, there you feel free.
I kept score, much of the night, until the teams went south in Winter.