Hour and a Half to Game Time

During the forthcoming literary salon at Katherine Lawrence's house, Brenda Schmidt and I share the billing. There's talk of questions, something like Why and how do you use sports in your poems? or something like that.

To answer, I'll tell them about right now, when it's less than two hours to game time--the second outing of Love Story, the ball team made up of from 6 to 25 friends, workmates, kids, friends of kids, and others. (That reminds me, the buggers had better bring their ten bucks, their share of the cost of organizing this band of line drive and hard field artists.)

We won last night, but can we win tonight? Will those liners continue to elude the hands of would-be fielders? Will we make it through seven innings without serious injury (such as that broken nail Luba sustained up in Edmonton years ago, causing her to miss the rest of the season and part of the next)?

Carla, the librarian, who said today I'm pumped for tonight--will second base continue to serve as her personal dancefloor?

To find out, check tomorrow's post. For now, I'm going to pick up Tom at work--so far he's the slugger of the team--and head over to the diamond.