The Royal Blue Dot From Space




(11.3.2015 No.168 —


By Steve Hermanos






From the International Space Station,

Looking down,

At the fat part of America,

In an expanse of post-harvest dirt,

At the center of a splatter of concrete,

Blooms a mass of Royal Blue;


A million fans in the plaza of a city of 1.2 million,

That’s a nice batting average;


Well they waited 30 years for this,

In a league of 30 teams;

It only seems fair;


Jonny Gomes,

Who grew up playing ball 30 miles from where I’ve typed,

All these poems,

Who came aboard the good ship Royals late-season,

Who didn’t play a moment of the post-season,

Who played only 12 games,

Takes an American flag and announces,


“Hey, guess what?

Cy Young winner,

Not on our team—

We beat him;


“Rookie of the Year,

Not on our team—

We beat him;


“MVP of the whole league—

Sorry guys, not on our team,

But we beat that guy too!…


“We whooped their ass!”








From Mesopotamia,

To Troy,

To Yorktown,

To Appomattox,

To the Yankees and Dodgers and Reds and Cardinals,

To the end of the year,

The harvest,

Your birthday,

It’s an easy thing to get behind,

A celebration;


Why can’t we celebrate—

Look, I didn’t burn the toast!

Little L. beat me in chess!

I got a new job that doesn’t suck!

I bought great underwear on sale for $7!

My car is still running!

I’m not sick anymore!

No one’s bothering me!

I’m in love with my wife!


Bring in the stage, the marching band, the microphone,

A party so humungous,

They can see it,

From the Space Station.


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