Sons of Buhner

Certainly, I'll be looking for a better title for this column, debuting today, in which I will post a baseball-themed poem every Thursday afternoon. In theory, I will also write a baseball-themed poem to be posted each Thursday. We'll see just how long that lasts. In any case, I wrote this first one about a month ago after going through a box of Donruss baseball cards Danny sent me as a wedding present.


ELEGY FOR 1988

I will never forgive Jose Canseco
For failing to appear
In any of the packs of Donruss, Fleer
And Topps that I un-waxed
In ’88, the year
I learned to throw

A wiffle-curve that would break like a dropped brick,
Collapse at my brother’s feet,
And skitter clear to the empty street
Before he swung; the summer
I fell in love with that cheat,
That lying sack

Of green, gold and white-wearing shit I’d cheer
Each night on the radio.
Holy Benito Santiago!
The bombs Canseco hit!
A one man Murderer’s Row!
Of course, we’d hear

Later that his bat was juiced, his off-field beat
More for the tabloid stacks
Than Bazooka Joe, and the hard smacks
He dealt domestic, too.
Can’t a public man distract
His own defeat

Long enough to play a child’s game? O!
Jose Canseco, there’s
No road back. Nobody cares
Any longer that you cracked
In the face of honor,
Or even knows.


Did I mention that this is the inaugural column? Woo-hoo!