Ode to the Groundskeepers
In his office he plans to keep,
the infield and outfield nice and neat.
Mixing seeds and clay all day,
grooming skins level for play.
Rolling tarps in case of rain,
to cover those skins so dry and plain.
Skins that are amber and red,
with clay and hardener- nice and wet.
Bake dry in the sun and hard as a rock,
running or sliding – safe or out.
Then there’s the outfield with so much grass,
so much to cut pass after pass.
Oh my Lord, what does he see,
as he looks out – there plain as could be!
One dandelion in the outfield with so much space,
now there’s two, then three, crap – there all over the place.
Then he gets weak in the knees,
there in the infield, as plain as can be!
Along the baselines and next to the dugouts too,
can you imagine how bold and upright – well how do you do.
He can't believe it, there next to these pests,
there’s brown grass in front of the backstop nets.
Oh no this cannot be,
brown grass in plain sight for everyone to see.
So he readies his crew with shovels and rakes,
with fertilizers and sprays, - if it takes all day.
But to his dismay as they take to the field,
as dark clouds challenge the power he wields.
“So what” he proclaims,” this is my field domain!”
“I call the shots here” he yells, “let it shine or let it rain.”
But a bolt of lightning is sent his way,
“Oh well,” he thinks to himself, “tomorrows another day.”