Though written in homage to the great Lou Gehrig, I felt this piece seemed appropriate, given the events of late. Published in October 1955 in Poetry Magazine, this poem engenders a sense of nostalgia and sentimentality.
*
He was all back,
his stance was clumsy,
ran like a horse,
smiled with a dimple,
but Time cut him,
as easy as that,
bowled him right over,
muscle and all, for
a crick in his honest back–
the wellwrought stallion,
cleats on his shoes,
and a hometown shoulder,
full of country bumps.
We read about Herakles,
and the hairy Samson,
and fake Olympic games:
the whole world boos;
but here’s Big Lou
whom Death bowled over
as the sun rose,
a lazy foul ball,
and a whole generation
of the running boys
pull up, cry loud,
at what Death caught.
