Jim Beam and a splash of water,
leave the bottle on the table.
I lived to be three hundred eighty-six in Red Sox years.
Ted Williams would uncoil on a fastball like a cobra,
but the summer sun would take
its sweet and silent time
creeping across the Fenway grass
on its way to here,
wherever that is. Look, it's back to zero-zero
on the Monster once again.
If you're keeping score, good luck, the umps are waving
everybody home.