This Week's Doggerel
Old Man River and the Capitol Punisher
June 1, 2026
Impossibly Lost
by Brian Mosher
Mine were the Red Sox
of Yazstrzemski and Lynn,
of Rice and Eckersley,
of almost but not quite,
of wait until next year.
Though I cried tears of joy
when the Dirt Dog edition
finally toppled the Evil Empire
and brought the trophy home,
somehow it seemed more
an ending than a beginning,
more reminiscent of dreams
impossibly lost than
of legacy regained.
Brian Mosher resides in Mansfield, MA. His work has appeared in Blood and Bourbon, Lily Poetry Review, Literary Underground, Nixes Mate, Anomaly Poetry, eMerge, Esoterica, and others. His most recent books are the collection, A Muster of Melodious Musings (Metaphysical Fox Press, 2025); Double Vision, a collaboration with artist Becky Haletky (2026); and the chapbook Relict (Finishing Line Press, 2026). His website is Phlubbermatic.
June 2, 2026
The No Plate Special
by Michael X. Ferraro
The Cristopher Sánchez bagel shop
Was open all May, baking non-stop.
Smoother than Philly cream cheese,
Changing up speeds, buckling knees.
Straight up Cy-licious, this is no slop.
June 3, 2026
Nickname Hall of Fame #7
by Jim Siergey
Frank Howard, also known as “The Washington Monument,” was the biggest star of the second incarnation of the Washington Senators. Though he came up with the Dodgers, he asked to be traded to get more playing time. In an era when home run hitters were average-sized, Howard measured in at 6 foot 8 inches and 250 pounds. He retired with 382 home runs, two home run titles, an RBI title, a World Series home run and championship, three All-Star Games, and the admiration of most of greater Washington, D.C.
June 4, 2026
St. Louis, 1982
by Dena Molen
This is where a city blends.
Shoulders, elbows, and sharp
opinions are tucked away; personal
space is temporarily downsized.
A band of heavy-tongued baseball
fans bump their way through the late
afternoon, the day salty on their lips.
While they take care not to step on
heels in front of them, they let the
saxophone snake-charm them through
the streets, down the ramps, to their
car payments. A sobering occurs as
the sun’s weight reminds them that
summer, too, is on her way out.
Behind them, their stadium leaks
streams of red shirts — bodies of
energy pulsing hometown pride,
and they suppose it’s why they’ll
never let go of this city. Strangers
move along, one mass carrying
singular beats.
They talk about the home runs, the heat,
the week in front of them. They find their way
through the dense humidity and revel
in the buzz from the game.
On the bridge, traffic is gridlocked
in both directions. A gold Cutlass
Supreme protests the confinement:
a pair of summer-honeyed legs,
crossed at the ankles, stretches out
from the passenger window,
close enough for someone
in the other lane
to reach.
In this late afternoon sun,
Everyone —
is on the verge
of living.
Dena Molen is a poet from St. Louis whose perspective has been shaped by years on the pavement and gravel roads of the Midwest. Today, she serves the entire state of Missouri as a school support specialist for Deafblind children and their families. Her writings have won the St. Louis Metro Arts in Transit Poetry Series and the International Plaza Audio Poetry Prize 2025 shortlist.
June 4, 2026
MLB Mighty Mississippi Team
by Dan Campion
1B Mike Carp
2B Neal Finn
SS Ernie Banks
3B Rocky Bridges
LF Red Fisher
CF Curt Flood
RF Kevin Bass
C Wynston Sawyer
LHP Vida Blue, Sandy Koufax
RHP Mudcat Grant, Earl Huckleberry, Catfish Hunter, Ernie Shore, Rees Gephardt “Steamboat” Williams
MGR Jimmy Dykes
June 5, 2026
Single or Homer?
by Dr. Rajesh C. Oza
My friend and I once coached Little League;
That was over a quarter century ago.
Now we meet at Ada’s Café for tea and cocoa.
Sometimes, when our creaky knees let us,
We bicycle past the old field to the café.
And then we talk—talk across all the bases.
Our boys are grown men now,
Leading lives of consequence, of consequences,
No longer pitching or catching.
My old friend shows me a fading photo from Wrigley Field:
Dodger great Maury Wills is in the middle—as if at second base—
Long arms around him and his kid brother—as if at third and first.
Remembering legendary Cubs announcer Jack Brickhouse,
He and I discuss the metaphysics of base hits.
I wonder, “Is a single better or a homer?”
He says, “A home run is spectacular.”
I frown. “I suppose chicks dig the long ball.”
He notices my reluctance to agree.
I ask, “Doesn’t clearing the bases end all the fun?”
He looks puzzled. “You like singles and doubles?”
I cheer up. “A single keeps the line-up moving.”
He likes that. “Singles and doubles. Keep the line moving.”
I add, “Imagine Maury at first, ready to steal second.”
He looks at my ancient two-wheeler. “Keep the line moving.”
Dr. Oza fictionalized Jack Brickhouse in his debut novel, Double Play on the Red Line.