Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
The Walkoff
Our games ended
when the ball was lost.
Now and then a hit over a fence
rolled down the street into the sewer.
We blamed each other and ourselves.
We were kids caught in a playground
pushing our imaginations
to imagine ballparks.
This was years before last inning
heroics and bat flips. Men now paint
with wood, standing back admiring
the flight of their art. What is
the difference between a fence
and a frame?
Written by E. Ethelbert Miller
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