Abstract
Baseball at Midnight Earl J. Wilcox (bio) Some say an old man is loony—up past midnight,his only companions two owls outside his windowcheering each other the way an old man rootsfor his team. After all, it is October—shorterdays, longer nights—that time in a baseball yearwhen the game finally fills its fans like a cup running overwith playoffs. Dodger Blue and Cardinal Red,colorful enough to compete with white birches oryellow maple leaves falling near Boston or Detroit.The fields in the old man’s dreams are not filledwith regret for unrequited love or hope of everlastingland of milk and honey. The sheer joy and loveof the game, aplenty to last for the long winter ahead. [End Page 2] Earl J. Wilcox earl j. wilcox, avid St. Louis Cardinals fan, has published approximately two dozen baseball poems in Aethlon, Centrifugal Eye, Kakalak, NINE, and the New Verse News, among others. A nominee for the Pushcart Prize, he is in his ninth decade and a retired university professor who founded The Robert Frost Review. Copyright © 2022 University of Nebraska Press
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