Dad Was a Four-Year-Old Rowan Farm Boy 

Dad Was a Four-Year-Old Rowan Farm Boy

By Tim Peeler

When Yankee teammates alarmed the hotel security 
To open the door to Babe’s room 
Where he was clearly about to kill 
His roomie Leo Durocher 
In whose suitcase he’d found 
His missing five hundred bucks. 
The Babe’s dad who ran a Baltimore tavern 
Had taught him the hard way 
About stealing from the till 
And the Babe hated a thief more 
Than he hated a Mrs. Grundy 
Which is to say enough to beat 
A man’s head against a radiator. 
 
Dad had not learned to be a fan yet, 
When Durocher was traded forthwith, 
Had not learned to hate light-fingered Leo
And the Gashouse Gang for  
Whipping Hank Greenberg 
And his beloved Tigers. 
 
Dad was only four. 
In his one picture he has my wide ears,  
Narrow face. 
They say he stood on a barnyard stump, 
Preached to the chickens. 
 
Dad was only four, 
The corn shuck August night Ruth 
Pummeled his thieving roommate. 
But he already carried all my DNA, 
The way a baby copperhead 
Carries all its venom. 

Tim Peeler is a retired educator from Hickory, North Carolina. He has written three books of baseball-related poetry, including most recently, Wild in the Strike Zone, a Casey Award Finalist.

Jason David Córdova lives in Puerto Rico as an illustrator and painter. Some of his art can be seen on Instagram at @jasoni72. You can visit his shop on Red Bubble.

The Twin Bill is a nonprofit organization with 501(c)(3) tax-exempt status. You can support The Twin Bill by donating here.