Snow falls lightly today, 27 days

from opening day, where crowds will

roar and the rookie pitcher will try and stick

at least until the All-Star break.

We live in the minors, faces pressed against

the glass, see our dreams drift and fade.

Take comfort in the small graces, the laugh

of daughters, a good meal, coming in at the beginning

of a movie on TV. Small victories, as the paper

prints the box scores. I’m a career

.220 hitter, never quite up to the task, as I see

your eyes cloud as if I’d stranded runners,

yet again.

Jeff Davis

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