ode to dusty.

there once was a man named dusty, who played for some baseball teams.
when he caught the ball in the field, his big white choppers would gleam.
i wonder what kind of paste, he used on his clean toothy grin.
i wonder if it ever dribbled, down through the cracks of his chin.

i see him standing there, looking into the bathroom mirror.
i see him at the barbeque, sucking down a beer.
the beer has gone straight to his belly, rotund it has become.
i imagine if he rode a bike like me, his penis too would go numb.

but dusty has aged a bit now, and coaches from the side of the field.
he teaches the tricks of the game, the power a bat can wield.
i will not be naming my boy dusty, nor carl nor pete nor bruce.
i can only imagine the pain, and the bad things such a name could induce.

but today, i will not play baseball, instead i will ride my own bike.
i will talk on the phone to keri, to christian, to randi and mike.
i will make myself some lunch, some bread, chips, and tuna fish.
i will listen to smashing pumpkins, perhaps their first record gish.

the sun it shines on the earth, and the flowers they stretch to the sky.
ol' dusty eats those seeds, and his belly says he likes pie.
if i were starving in the snow, up on that pass they named donner.
i would eat him and savor his fat, like the soap made by ralph bronner.

but it is time to go now, to snack and ride through the hills.
it is time to mail some letters, and time to pay some bills.
i wonder what dusty is doing, on this fine april day.
dusty, oh my dear dusty, baseball you will always play.

Posted by jeff pitcher at April 27, 2004 10:41 AM

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