Grand Slam Night

A.D. Winans

the lights are low

you can see the sweat beads

bathing his face like a lizard's tongue

the crowd is standing on its feet

screaming, dancing, whistling

stomping their feet to the tune

of a marching band

he's gyrating his hips

making love to the mike

his words are thunder

lightning bolts appear from nowhere

the poems are burning in his hands

the crowd is screaming for more

he's running up and down the aisle

reciting the ten commandments backwards

he's back on stage doing acrobatics

the audience is spellbound

the judges are frantically writing

down their scores

he's standing on his head

he's trying to raise the dead

he's brought in the Pope for a duet

the guy waiting his turn

looks white as a ghost