The Shoebox - Day 12

Gene Garber
P - Atlanta
#414, Donruss, 1987

You wind up
like the mainspring
of the gold watch setting
in a TBS dusk. Every day
engraves the letters
a touch deeper. Won't be
a Gene Day. Only a last time
you twist like the helix
ladder, let go
a riser and hit showers
and the waiver wire. What
would they have given you
anyway? A boy's chorus
sings you off to "Stout
Hearted Men?" An insult
to you and the lazy hacks
who reminded you it's a job:
Workhorse. Workmanlike.
You miss the emus
back on the farm. Their motion
an ancient hatred
of anything full of grace.