Current
Issue
Volume 12.1
Luke Koesters
—
The College World Series
Tuesday. July 29th, 2010
Baseball is an excuse
for closeness
and a drink. Today, chances
to light an empty field on fire
choke. The ninth inning ends
tied. Heels clacking through beer
gardens and sno-cone hollering
rattle the stadium’s ribs.
It’s tradition for Omaha to dry-heave
at least once a summer. Dad cracks open
around now, fails to the uncomfortable
stillness. I know he wants to talk
by how his hand bobs, conducting
the words in his head. I do that too.
The tenth fizzles.
Another empty.
Baseball is two teams
dancing around losing
and midwestern pleasantries.
Bottom of the eleventh arrives
quiet. Dad is overcome,
leans in, I wish things with your mom
and I were going better.
The ping of an aluminum bat interrupts.
Baseball is collision.
Crowds swell, transform into traffic,
confetti and bottle rockets,
weeping men running to hold
somebody in every direction.
Luke Koesters is a queer, Asian-American poet from Omaha, NE. He is currently attending the University of Nebraska at Omaha where he is pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Fiction and Poetry. He is currently working with and had work accepted by 13th Floor, UNO’s literary magazine.
