Hot Dogs
1
Noses, lips, intestines, anuses—
With relish I bite into the hot dog
Slathered in mustard, ketchup,
And, well, relish …
If every hot dog
Takes five minutes off your life,
I figure I’ll die a week early.
I can live with that.
The crack
of the bat! Oh shit, mustard
All over my shirt. I can live with
That.
2
They call him a hot dog,
This shortstop who flips his bat,
Pounding his chest
After a home run,
Even the wind-blown cheapie
Someone in the stands
Throws back onto the field,
Unimpressed.
His self-
Regard almost echoes
In the vast space
Before the sparse crowd.
3
There aren’t many fields left.
Outside the stadium,
Parking lots & bars,
Where you can watch the game on TV.
4
It’s the 4th of July.
After the parade, the dads put on
Witty aprons & fire up the grills.
Somehow, it’s not the same.
Go to Source
Author: The Best American Poetry
