The I of the Storm

We Americans love our baseball metaphors.
We like to say: “There’s no in team.”
Now we watch the news, nervous to learn
what the dead-eye virus pitched today.

Some folks refuse to play ball: “I
won’t wear a mask,” they insist, “I
won’t let you trample my freedom, I
think your experts exaggerate, I

want to party at the bar, I
want to hang with babes at the beach.”
It’s no seventh-inning stretch to say
the dead-eye virus won’t give up the mound,

so every day’s another round of batting
strategy, of what can we do
and where can we go
without getting hit by the pitcher.

Copyright 2020 by Brian Dean Powers
Published in Sheltering with Poems by Bent Paddle Press
Photo by Chris Briggs at

10 thoughts on “The I of the Storm

    1. Thank you for commenting. I usually strive to write poems that are lyrical, having a strong sense of musicality in the language. That gets lost in the anger and frustration being expressed in this poem, the repeated “I” being the vehicle for my irritation. If I want people in the future to know what it was like living through these times, it would be in the last stanza, that daily questioning of what is safe and what is not.


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