For Billy Beane, On the Eve of Game Five

Billy, holy wow.
Holy crap, Billy, did you see that?

The elfin sprite that
stole my hat,
I see now how he floated
away from me
so fast:

he was possessed of an afro puff,
Billy,
and was he Crispy!

He was Crispy!

But you were locked, maybe,
upside down in some shed
at your ankles with the lights off
transistor radio in the corner
plugged with an ear
plug
blaring
the only sounds
dark sound
until there was light.

You yourself were glowing.

I was, by
god, jostled, tousled my sheets
to say the least
when I seen it, Billy —
your living ghost lurk
smirking
waving Seth home,
the very hat you gave me
propelling…

I mean, hot damn, Billy:
you see that?

So, you keep the hat —
I see now you need it —
and I will keep the hope

and tonight when the light springs
forth — who knows what creatures
sit spring-wound under tarps — when I pound
my hands blue
wake up the house
practically drool
I’ll know it was you who gave me
The Hat, Billy.

And Billy, you’ll know it was me
who gave The Hat back.