Sonnet: A Valediction, Against Flushing
The fundamental errors in the field,
The bats as cold as February snow,
The pitching inconsistent and too slow --
Have reaped a last-place standing as their yield.
A fate of autumn off is all but sealed,
So they go out and lose eight in a row.
The fans who still have hope believe, but know
How hearts with bitterness become congealed.
Come on, Mets! You make Tampa Bay look good!
You're living proof a pennant can't be bought.
Bud, why contract the Twins or Montreal?
Amazin'. They're professionals -- they should
Survive. Break up the Mets! They're all for naught.
It's over, guys. Let's go. Enjoy the fall.
Christine, you have the soul of a Red Sox fan. (They're ruinin' my summah! Again!)