Featured poet
Marty Gervais
Marty Gervais is a poet, photographer, journalist, and historian. He is the author of the Canadian bestseller The Rumrunners and has published more than two dozen books of poetry. Gervais is Windsor Ontario’s first Poet Laureate and was the recipient of the Queen Jubilee Medal as well as the Harbourfront International Authors’ Festival prize for his work on mentoring aspiring writers. His photography has been exhibited in France, Ireland, the U.S., and throughout Canada. Gervais is also the publisher of Black Moss Press, one of Canada’s oldest literary publishing companies.
Bookings: martygervais@gmail.com
Featured poem
Mickey Mantle’s Last At Bat at Tiger Stadium
I remember that day, Sept. 19, 1968 —
I was sitting at a lunch counter at a Coney Island joint
on Lafayette in downtown Detroit, just minutes
from Tiger Stadium and the radio carried
the mellifluous voice of Ernie Harwell — one out
and nobody on the bases. Tigers in the lead 6-1
top of the 8th inning and coming to the plate
the great Mickey Mantle, and on the mound
the cocky Detroit right-hander Denny McLain
who was cruising to his 31st win
and what happened next nobody knows for sure
except maybe McLain, but Mantle signalled
for a fastball, letter high, and McLain standing
tall on the mound — his cap yanked down
shading his eyes, and peered up to get a better look
like someone wearing bifocals, and nodded slowly
and the next thing you knew was the delivery
of a tailor-made pitch, and the ball sailing
like a rocket into the right field seats —a spoon-fed
535th career homer, packaged up with a ribbon
laced around it and a message loud and clear
Here you go! You don’t need to ask twice
Years later, I talked with McLain at a Detroit
radio station — he was nearly 300 pounds
his famous right hand now like a machine crushing
and slamming one tin coke can after another
into a nearby pail all through the broadcast
and I spoke with him another time right
after he got out of jail and was slinging, not fastballs
but slurpees at 7-11 and once more I asked
Do you remember that day with Mantle?” And again
he smiled,“C’mon, I was 24!” But not before
simultaneously and quietly flashing that steely gaze
of a pitcher, chin tucked down, and his big
right hand in slow motion lobbing a fake pitch
