Monday, September 7, 2009

Ethel Mays

WHEN NINE WENT UP

Nine flew the wing like Armageddon on a lark
and the reverence by youngsters had no likely match.
Not the biggest nor the smallest, just an honest
hardworking soul that loved to skate with the wind
playing the game hard enough to break glass sometimes,
proof of dues paid during years in the minors;
noted by the press that swooped like carrion birds
when tears fell at retirement when nine went up
to the rafters where it belonged – with the winners.

4 comments:

  1. Wonderful! A true "hall of fame" entry.

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  2. I turn 40 on 09/09/09. Will my jersey get rtired too?!

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  3. The gritty guts of immortality. Nice poem.

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  4. Not sure who "#9" was, but this is a fine lyrical tribute.

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