Batting Instructor Edward J.
Whizzykin Told Us, “Cross Your Eyes
Five Minutes Every Night”
Mark Blaeuer
He was so positive it worked the vision
muscle: a sweaty, pudgy alchemist
turning base theory into major league
gold if not aurum philosophicum.
Awake, I search for Eddie’s career stats,
find nothing literal except the pain
of trying to maintain my average
by guile, opposed to arrogant phenoms.
A part of my soul edges off third, breaks
with the pitch, and the bunt slow-rolls toward first . . .
a squeeze play, executed perfectly,
ties up the game (as if it were a game).
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Mark’s notes: “October features Halloween—and the American major league baseball playoffs. This poem first appeared on October 1, 2011, at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. My favorite professional team, the St. Louis Cardinals, last won a World Series championship that autumn. They will not hoist a Commissioner’s Trophy in the 2026 Fall Classic, however, having failed to qualify for the postseason.”
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Mark Blaeuer lives just south of Lofton, Arkansas. He was a ranger for many years at nearby Hot Springs National Park, and his M.A. is in Anthropology. His poems (and a few translations from Spanish) have appeared in 100+ magazines, such as Better Than Starbucks, Bindweed, The Borough, Ezra, Grand Little Things, The HyperTexts, Lighten Up Online, The Orchards, Passionfruit Review, Pulsebeat, Susurrus, Ultramarine Literary Review, and Wales Haiku Journal. His collections are Fragments of a Nocturne (Kelsay Books, 2014) and Surfacing Below (SurVision Books, 2025). He’s also written a couple of history books: Didn’t All the Indians Come Here? (Eastern National, 2007 [out of print]) and Baseball in Hot Springs (Arcadia Publishing, 2016).
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