Published: New York Baseball Poems (1999)

I met him on the ferry
Bridgeport bound,
heading for a Bluefish game.

He walked the deck
like a former player on a mission
going over the starting
line up in his mind.

He raised his golden glove arm
in a mock salute
as we passed the halfway point.

He adjusted his old Met cap
in the whipping wind
knowing the game
would soon begin.

He autographed every scrap
of paper that came his way
before embarking to see
youth playing before
his hungry eyes.

Bud Harrelson by Robert L. Harrison ©