First Things

Sometimes the days just won't move no matter

What you try. First things, you say in the Spring

As you plant the brown rows, but the first thing

You see is they just won't come. The batter

Stands interminably in the fresh sun,

Tapping his yellow bat on the white plate.

Ball one. Strike one. Ball two. Strike two. At this rate

We'll all be dead before the first home run.

One night you hear on the phone, "Old Chritchly's dead,"

And now it seems to bluster when it rings

And the boys say Sir when you walk to town.

Tommy Chritchly! What, what was that he said-

I feel so good I swear to God it stings-

And you call to the moon Slow down Slow down.