Green Monsters

The picture hangs on my wall, filled with intent
Ty Cobb sliding into Jimmy Austin's shins at third
The dirt spewing up in agony, as the Georgia Peach's spikes
Slice through more than the basepath
It was a time of madmen and green monsters, when Cobb knew Navin
When the summer sun cut through the savage symmetry of the
Infield like quicksand, ready to swallow you up just for standing
Still
When the stench of stubborn glory was carried up by the
Urgent dust
And the roar of the crowd was a roar for blood
In the shadow of Navin field that became Briggs and then
Tiger Stadium
Now as empty as Cobb's grave, crying out for its madmen
That picture carries the hate spit through
Ty Cobb's gritted teeth
Hate spit not at Austin, but to the world in general, to life,
To me
At the end of his career, when asked if he had any regrets
Cobb only said that he wished he had made more friends
That what he really missed was the warm memories
Of friends sacrificed to green monsters and the glory of the
Next base