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The Tragedy of Mickey Mantle photo

             What happened to me
is probably less interesting

             than what’s happening to you,
pal. Shit, man, save some

             pity for yourself. Sure, I got
a shot in the ass

             infected with something
they can’t even name—you ever led the league

             in the clap six seasons straight?
I’m dead to my old man,

             deader than old Mutt is
even in the ground. He pulled lead

             and zinc from the earth
and I hit baseballs farther

             than any man on earth. We’re both
fucking astronauts, as far as I can see.     

             So keep teaching your kids
to mold their hats

             like me, stuffed into coffee mugs
so the bills curve

             like half pipes. I’m in Room 506 with half
the city’s liquor and half

             the city’s wives. Three minutes with The Mick
can make you feel famous—

             that’s what they say.
Like any dumb fucker

             with muscles made of gold,
just call me Achilles

             and be sure to aim low.