back SANDRA MARCHETTI
Distortion
I won’t forget listening
to a Brewers game
as the sun sunk over
the jack pine ridges
of the Upper Peninsula.
The signal glowed
fainter with each ray
disappearing. I was
northing with Bob Uecker
and when the light
dimmed well past nine,
Milwaukee was losing
and so was I, winking
slow across the shoreline,
my ears wrecked in the static
of a bobblehead giveaway.