until intersection with the break ball,

Clay Elliott precisely reflected

the entire team in microcosm

(big leaguers all if you looked without glasses).

Once with Kinston down 7 - 4,bottom

of the 9th, two outs, full count, his plaque hung

on a Hall wall for five seconds against

Jim Burton (loser of '75's World Series;

loyal defender of the Red Sox Curse)

winning the game 8 to 7. As ball

cleared fence, fate was laughing hysterically.

The Master Magician dealt Burton an

Ace of Spades, and Elliott's card upon

fifth glance became its identical twin.

Youth's dreams long past, Clay might after work

lighten some drink glasses. Maybe, in the

grain's glow, he'll recite the litany

of taking a washed up ex big league

bum over the wall to win a game.

Might disclose what pitch he hit, but the

psyche crippler he bears in silence;

few things matter and less matter much.