because it is almost BEISBOL SEASON at Fenway Park...

I’m in love with baseball's Boston Red Sox
[in honour of the RED SOX recent World Series triumph]

October 3, 1978 was the last time
I allowed a man to think he used me.

He took me to “green—monstered” Fenway where
G-d—fearing—ascetic Brahmin bankers

smiled sleazily at my body. Imitating
British accents as they supposedly cheered

for my home team. But the lawless Bronx warlords,
the Yankees, won that one—game play off.

And I remember how forlorn the Bosox looked-
as If they knew the imminence of death while

he laid me on his bed in that BackBay apartment.
Regarding me as some ordinary sexual contest

overcome by my desire for bat and ball and box seat.
A blonde primitive little Amish doll, to do certain chores,

his reward. Payment for a ticket impossible to attain.
Never realizing that I replayed the game,

over and over in my mind. Every pitch, every hit.
Mouthing words of encouragement for players

doomed like I was when one—day or one—night stands
turn into seasons of major headaches. Sighing

In disbelief as Dent took Torres deep. Swearing
shockingly when Yaz popped out to end my ordeal.

Never allowing fulfillment. Afterwards, saying to fans
lusting for triumph everywhere, “I wish it was longer.”