1
The city records show Mudville
endured torrential rains for some
time. Hence the name. Though
there is no documentation that any
other came
before. In the library,
searching for whatever it
had been. Spanning the years. Only that,
only now, up to your
neck in it.
2
How could there have
been happiness in a town with a name
like that. Casey tried to
change but could not. Everyone
has a day of absolute failure.
town that ended.
3
After all, what was he left with,
what to do. Swinging in the air at
something that had already gone by.
It would be easy to see what came next.
Dissolution, ruin. Increasing rain. The stadium emptied.
Exactly as it was.
4
What’s the worst that
could happen, he thought,
before the pitch. Merely a swing
and a miss. Oh, it ended up
so much more than this. Once,
when he was small, his father
told him there was a history
to tell. But he fell ill
and never got around to it. Needing him
on that day, Casey looked
into the stands. Only to find the
sodden faces of other men. Their desperate need
for him. His father missed the game.
Said he forgot .
Was thinking of something else he had to do
before he died.
5
The citizens, as you can understand,
were left with nowhere else to go.
The opposite of the
dust bowl. Water where you never
wanted it. Levees overflown, busted
and filled the baseball field.
Once lost, they wandered without
a sense of the reconfigured
diamond. Bases not where they should
be. Home and the backstop
gone.
6
The peanut vendor
lost his vocation.
Decided to ride the
rails. A tin of beans
and a bottle got him
through the worst days. He had
a little saved. He carried along
what was left of the red and white
striped bags. Sold them for
a pittance— to others for
nothing. He wondered aloud
at times if there had ever been
joy in Mudville. Woke the
others in the railway car with his
musings. Who ambled back
into something softer their minds
had created. Please, not that
kind of question.
7
Casey hit .367 that year.
So it was not errant to
hope at that moment.
Still, after it all
everyone in the stands
said they knew it was
coming. They spoke
in hindsight. Casey had
an idea about a curve ball
or slider, but it went by all
so fast. He couldn’t
read the signs. Out on the center field
wall was an advertisement for
Miller High Life. Now, outside
the thud in the catcher’s mitt,
that’s all he recalls.
8
After such a thing, who wouldn’t have wandered to
an arid town. Casey found himself
somewhere southwest. There were red
mountains off in the distance.
He thought of heading out there
and scaling one or two. Then re-thought
there was only so much failure
one man could endure.
He was sure
he needed to stay on.
But couldn’t. Caught a ride
going further north. Squandered
what he had left on something
to keep him in the dark.
9
The paper was full of speculation. What
it meant for the future of the town. But by
the time it went to press, everyone had
gone. On the street corner,
a newsboy called out the headline. Mighty Casey
at the bat.
No one in particular was there
to hear again anything about that.
The boy brought his full bundle
back. The city editor was at a loss. How
one toss of a baseball could kill
a town. He looked around for
anyone to interview. One man
had stuck around. He had recently moved, he
said, and saw no reason to take off
because of someone striking out
and a little rain.
It was just a game, he said.
What’s the big deal. You tell me.
The city editor ducked inside
the closest bar and drank
until he couldn’t see.
10
The townsfolk headed out en masse.
The land was flat and muddy but
no high mountain pass. In this they were
lucky. Though not a soul felt that way.
How had it come to this.
Yet there was no recollection
and besides no one was talking.
All they knew was a swing and
a miss.
Casey, that fucker, good
riddance.
They left him in the distance.
11
At some point, the
land rose up
and beyond one couldn’t
see. There was no town
yet, so no one
to blame for whatever
might happen there.
They pulled the wagons up and over.
The wheels in a rut.
A good start, they felt.
There would be no need
to leave.
Until then, like that fateful game.
It began to rain.
It would be different, someone said out loud.
They drew up a plan for the town.
Down to the finest detail
Made it precisely
the same.
Save the field.
12
Casey somehow found his way
back. Though
it was in essence no longer there.
The base paths became tall grass. Stadium walls
buckled, washed away in the ever-falling
rain. In a short dry spell, gophers
took over the pitcher’s mound.
Couldn’t tell the coming clouds
would open up that way.
Filling every gopher corridor.
Floating face-up underground.
13
Casey has given up the
bat. Taken up
other things. But this
was just conjecture. Someone said
they saw him once, still in
uniform, rowing away.
That he had adapted
to change.
14
With each stroke
in the oarlock
his arms wear away.
He wasn’t made for this and
the river never ends.
At some point
opens into the mouth of the sea.
Amidst the roar
that for an instant brings him
back. But fades as the waves
break.
He senses a leak.
By this time, he’s
in water up to his knees.
15
Oh Casey, you know there’s
no erasing such a hardened memory.
Remains immersed in it.
Rain fell far out across the ocean.
Only that, as far as his eyes
went.
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