I miss Babe Ruth
No,
I don’t mean
George Herman Ruth Jr.
After all
I did not know him
really
Maybe
he was overbearing
obnoxious
a womanizer
not
worthy of admiration
Still
I miss Babe
The stories
even if
they are not
all true
About his bravado
about his
love of
kids
about
his heroics
the hi jinx
the called shot
I
miss the swagger
the
chowing
down
of
hot
dogs
the cigar
the big trench coat
the
tip of
the
cap
the
bigness
the
crowds at the train stations
I miss
having someone
to look up to
like that
Someone
whose
autograph
makes me tremble
who I try
to talk to
but
nothing
comes out
except
jumbled
words
I miss the unreality
Today
is
nothing at all
like the Babe
the Sultan of Swat
the Big Bambino
Today is a rosin bag
with
not a lot left
a tired arm
a swing and a miss
Just once
to see
Babe
walk up
the stairs
of the dug out
onto the field
turn slightly
and
acknowledge
the whole world
If I had a wish
if
I
did
I would wish he was in uniform
it was 1927
he
was happy
we were happy
the ball was getting swatted
out
of
the park
And
you and I
were
sitting there
not saying a word
just
thinking
how lucky we are
and
thinking this will never end