Aliens, baseballs and bullsh**

Baseball game, enjoyable, but it ends.
Photo by Mike Bowman on Unsplash
There might be something in there of value that I can take,
taken by this delusion I am daily,
thinking that my lazy earnestness will suffice
for the cars and the shops and the vendors
of gaudy goods,
thinking my earnestness will compete
with snowy television sounds and the pissy subway.
Maybe I'm not for here, where I've gotta impress,
but for some alien world where big purple 
trees bend down to feed you fruit punch,
where the aliens invite you to random dance parties
in which the moves don't matter 
but enjoyment does. 
It's not so bad to not love people 
as it is to consider people not worth loving.
What you'd have to think about is that
the sun peaks through every once in a while.
You can go to a baseball game and enjoy it,
but you've gotta remember to really take in the baseball game
because there are only so many innings 
and then you've gotta do something else,
maybe buy some mouth wash or write a bad poem.
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