Inspiration

I was corresponding about baseball, and I mentioned how it was all spoiled for me back in '93 or '94, when Sparky Anderson was effectively fired by Mike Ilitch of Detroit for refusing to manage replacement players.
(Even then, I thought it was a bad omen to fire someone for being a purist, having integrity to the sport, and doing what they believed strongly to be right...)

The pain I felt was imaged as velcro pads ripping apart:  velcro eyes ( which has already been mentioned in one of my weekly poems within the past year...forget which ) or velcro heart, and that horrible sound you hear is what you love being ripped off your soul: velcro hooks being torn from velcro barbs.

So it should form the basis for next week's poem, IF...
If I can keep the song "Hungry Eyes" out of my mind, that is, which forces me into "Velcro Eyes".