America's Pastime (Ode To #42)
The beginning of the ending is the bottom of the seventh inning stretch. In the all fifty stars per states civil war game, for the Gotham City Black Sox I'm up to bat next. Call me Batman, the unsung hero leader of the Negro Leagues is lead-off man. My own fans throw sand in my eye. Sport reporters short stop me holding court by the bullpen. Threatening to pencil whip me for an error, I'm a field Knickerbocker versus a low E.R.A. Though I'm terrified by domestic terrorist, tell 'em it's a new era today. Me against the K K K. The opposition hates this designated player. They want to hang me from a Rickety Branch, and take my life in three strike outs - Proposition 666 legislature.
The first pitch over the pentagon was a mean fastball. He tried to bean me. I dodged, ducked down, my face frowned my fist knuckled up. Then I chuckled and told him to change up. Surrounded by rye-grass the catcher hides behind his mask from this historical lesson. He's asking rhetorical questions. Do you think we won't sink you? Or slide and gut ya with the cutter? Why you won't hit the wall? Boy we'll break yo balls!... more »