This place is a mixture of beach towns with Barnegat Light
and exurban towns like Toms River and Red Bank,
with mottos like: There are three constants in life:
Death, taxes and "Spaceman" Bill Lee taking the mound.

A man who once left his job at the factory in anger
to grab a beer and showed up again in the eighth hour,
is still out there to this day, hucking the horsehide
in any Jersey town and on any skilless job that will let him.

Something to do with Buckminster Fuller, 
the Cartesian coordinates, 
or this man might have another kind of theory:
turn over your own potato patch with nothing but a shovel.

While we wonder if the baseball season is going to start on time,
I wonder where this man is, whether 
he is talking about small things like the weather
or if he is me, making mega gestures towards life and poetry. 

Envy is different than jealousy,
and I want to be this Lager man, looking for baseball,
and nothing more – like hopes and dreams –
to cloud lousy life which only precedes the sweet relief of death.