Valhalla Park- Digital Collage 4" x 6"

As if hearing Wagner round the clock isn't enough to drive one completely off the deep end, this group of Neaderthals I'm stuck with for all eternity insist we play baseball every single afternoon. I hate the game. No one speaks the same language and only one in ten players even understands the basic rules. The Conquistidors are always panicking and rushing the mound to pummel the pitcher. Of course since this is the hereafter there is absolutely no point in the beating and it just makes the games interminably long. Keep in mind I was an Aide de Camp caught in an ambush during the Spanish American War. I never believed in any of this Hall of Fallen Heroes Valkyrie hoo ha. Yet, low and behold here I am with a doctorate in Foreign Policy ––from Princeton no less –– stuck managing a team with the collective i.q. of ground beef.

My proposed Poetry Wednesday evenings were pre-empted by professional wrestling, a program that seems to be on television pretty much all of the time. When I stopped by Odin's office to suggest that maybe we look into renting a Merchant Ivory film or two he asked if I was looking for a fight. I said to him, "Can't we have a civilized disagreement without resorting to fisticuffs?" but it was clear my comment went right over his head. "So, we gonna fight or what?" he asked."Never mind," I replied and turned to leave only to have him run up behind me to give me a wedgie. "Brilliant," I said. He laughed and slapped me on the back. All I could think was, 'How did I miss the turn off for the Elysian Fields?'