Getting Atop a Bop Poem on April 3rd, Another Poetic Doodle from a Procrastinating Turd (with Some Softball & Good Friday Dinner)

I awoke to kick off the Good Friday with a Bop poem, thanks to Afaa Michael Weaver's gift. I wasn't at the African American poetry organization event at Cave Canem, but I benefited from learning about it on Sarah Donovan's EthicalELA #VerseLove challenge. She has me writing and I love it. 

Not unlike the Shakespearean sonnet in trajectory, the Bop is a form of poetic argument consisting of three stanzas, each stanza followed by a repeated line, or refrain, and each undertaking a different purpose in the overall argument of the poem. Six lines for a problem / a refrain / 8 lines to explore and expand the problem / a refrain / 6 lines for a solution/resolution/failure /and the refrain. 

It was a nice morning distraction as I thought hard about what I might cook for Good Friday, knowing my cousin and his two daughters were swinging back through on their northeast College tour. Earlier this week with Dr. Melanie Carol-Nappa, I had scallops with cheesy risotto. I decided to improvise and grilled salmon and made cheesy pilaf instead (I couldn't find risotto). It did required wine, asparagus, garlic, etc. and also to cook the pilaf in vegetable broth (more time consuming that I expected). I also barbecued cauliflower and Brussel sprouts, and they brought key lime cheesecake from Boston. 

Probably not a good idea to eat before our first softball practice. While we ate, I let the new gloves that Chitunga and I bought sit tied with a scarf and softball in the pocket, so they would soften, after I did a shaving cream and 3-minute oven bake as advised from the Internet. It worked.

Now, what didn't work is having our first practice with a full stomach (I ate all my key lime cheesecake, even if I took the smallest slice). I was full, and although I broke a Louisville Slugger bat with one of my hits (duck, Patrick), I realized I'm not good for running any more. What does make me happy is guiding Chitunga some. He's a natural athlete, but never played the sport. 

Our team didn't look so hot on day one, and with 35 degrees and a windchill, all of us were cursing the Gods. It hurt out there.

As for the poem for today...well, that's below. I am proud to say, though, that after I read it, Glamis ate a bowl of ground turkey and then later devoured some of the salmon from the grill. Whereas she has been rejecting all food, I will take her eating what she will. Taking the pills, however...a totally agonizing activity. She hates them.