The following is an excerpt from Lines: To a Beautiful Park in Minneapolis, a work-in-progress book of Minnesota Twins-related poetry. This selection deals with the benefits of an all-or-nothing approach to life, being the star of the show , if only for a moment, and the rush of bliss that occurs upon receiving instant gratification. In this poem's case, our young hero Dan Santana returns for a curtain call of his last poetic adventure.
This is "Danny Santana Hits a Home Run."
Danny hit a homer, and the night was cool and fair,
A sense of playoff aspirations ling’ring in the air.
The pitch was high and tight inside, the bat head swiftly swung,
The ball tipped off the foul pole -- the fans, united, sung.
As Dan Santana rounded first, his heart abound with glee,
His chest a-pounding, beat by beat, his worries wand’ring free,
He made an understated move, a modest pumping fist,
To fabricate a demonstration of his mounting bliss.
As Dan Santana rounded next, the second of four bases,
What caught his eye was joy from the unlikeliest of places.
The shortstop from the other side had never seen balls fly
With such pure grace -- and tipped his cap as Daniel-San ran by.
As Dan Santana rounded third, high-fiving old Gene Glynn,
His teammates crowded round the plate (where Mauer once had been.)
He leapt into their open arms, encompassed by their cheers,
Fulfilled and finally worthy of his team, he shed some tears.
But things aren’t always as they seem, as Danny found out after.
For as he shuffled off the field, his teammates sharing laughter,
The world around him darkened fast, the jubilee broke up --
And Danny jolted back to earth. Poor Danny, see, woke up.