Daniels - Birth marks: poems

I almost wrote Dizzy, then I started thinking about Dizzy Dean, the last 30-game winner in the N. L., 1934. Denny McLain went 31-6 for Detroit in 68. I was there when he won his 30th. Dizzy on hand to offer congratulations. Young Reggie Jackson already the straw that tainted the drinkhit two homers for the As that day.

What was he stirring? A martini? A time bomb? In 68, when the wind blew in off the river, Detroit still reeked wet smoke from the riots. Wed taken the bus downtown for ladies/retirees day 50 cents for kids under 12, so we scrunched down with our shit-eating grins for the ticket seller behind bars who didnt give a shit, just wanted bribes for the good seats. Somewhere in the city, Iggy Pop tried out lyrics to I Wanna Be Your Dog and somewhere Aretha cleared her throat and somewhere the MC5 turned it up another notch. After the game, we waited on the wrong side of the street for the bus home as the sun vamoosed, Billy Bowen clutching the two-ton ham he won in the lucky number scorebook drawing. Some young black men joined us, and Billy just handed over the ham because our pastor had been mugged outside the stadium last year, but one guy said Keep your damn ham, white boy! and we got on a bus that only took us further from home. Denny McLains in jail for the second timeraiding the pension fund of his own company.

Denny drank a case of Pepsi every day. He had one more good season, then spontaneously combusted. Like Detroit in 67. One match, and nobody to blow out the candle. When his brother Paul pitched a no-hitter in game two of a double-header back in the 30s, Dizzy said