louisville_slugger tender_square my father hasn't played in a beer league in decades. he was quick to find the equipment in his two-and-a-half-car garage when i asked after it. he handed an aluminum bat to me and said, "that could really hurt someone." that's why i was taking it, a security measure. i held it in my hands. "it might be too heavy for you," he said. he searched after a wooden bat pioneered in the south, from a place that was the first to ever publish my work in print. the black vinyl lettering on the wood was worn from the contact it made it with leather. he cleaned the cobwebs from the handle. he leaned it by the door for me to take. 230425 ... past "i traded my bat for three joints when i left toronto," he looked out the window, across the shimmering river and into the greening hills beyond. "but after last winter, i think that was a mistake. i couldn't sleep knowing what was going on out there but also couldn't get anything while it was happening. how can you be meek enough to slip past but strong enough to warn off threats?" 230426 what's it to you? who go blather from