My dad had too few kids to field wiffle ball, so
he introduced me to the Ghost Man. Suppose
I found myself stuck at second base
when it came my time to bat: The Ghost Man
could take my place, continuing my parade
around the bases
Of all the ghosts
my parents left to me, this Ghost Man
serves me best — see the hurled ball
pass right through him, watch him score
a shred of glory in my name. Long after dusk
has eaten the Midwestern backyard
barely large enough to hold this game,
years after the players have gathered
the Frisbee & pie plate bases & have gone
their separate ways, the Ghost Man runs —
is still running — through the diamond-
shaped cycle that I taught him: toward & away
from home, toward & away from home.
From Ghost Man on Second, 2024
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