Underneath
what you see of me,
what you think you see
but can’t imagine, really:
the Big Anger, much of that drawn
from what you don’t see.
Underneath
what you see:
hard to describe, really; let’s
manifest it this way —
I’m a chain smoking demon
sitting out a rain delay
in a ballpark where
I can’t light up.
Underneath
what you see,
what you can’t see but
maybe you can hear: let’s go,
batter up, America’s Game,
batter up. Let me take
a swing if you’re not ready —
and man, are you not ready.
