Notes - Modern Baseball

Dear «long, dark hair»,

I write cause I know you’ll forget

You could be sea-green in a waste basket tomorrow

No repulsions for

My premature indulgences

If you cant recall a word I said

Not like those cheek bones,

That crooked nose

No, those fellas stick around too long

Perpetuate in every pathetic word

That I askew into song

She was my trophy shelf of slip-ups

My untamed, hormonal, acne shit show

On late night rotation for months on end

A brick-boot swimming lesson

In the deep end of my adolescence

Scrawling notes on the backs of my hands

But I’ll start fresh with you

Extracting the rusted attachments

Keeping the die-hard nuts, bolts and screws

We’ll go from square one with the wit of an old pro

And you can fill in the gaps with whatever you know

My «long, dark hair»