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Open Poetry #49
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KJOTT
Member
since 2012-12-26
Posts 87
Canada

0 posted 2014-03-30 01:23 PM


The Game
.

With bat and ball and gloves in hand and on our way
we'd pass by old man Finch where when he'd sit and watch the world
one of us would wave. Most times, he'd look,
he'd say— Ever tell you boys about the game?

He stole our breath away, sure, a hundred times.
We were fielders for him, basemen, catchers and every ball
split seconds from extra innings in mid-flight-
from-outfield-to-second-base-and-home-plate night games.

Peanuts, beer, hotdog vendors shouting,
with every other voice, shouting!
Out! You buncha losers! C'mon cmon cmon! Safe!
Allow the call or fault it, either way.

We were ball-card heroes, just the same,
with bat and ball and gloves in hand and on our way.

.

© kevinjtaylor 2014

© Copyright 2014 Kevin J. Taylor - All Rights Reserved
JerryPat2
Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975
South Louisiana
1 posted 2014-03-30 01:42 PM


Yes indeed, I so relate to this. Summertime in Taylor, Arkansas and baseball were synonymous. Enjoyed your write, Kevin.

~*~ In America, anyone can become president. That's the problem. ~*~

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