Posted by restorel66 on July 1, 2009
I’m ready. Toss the ball.
Grounders. Pop-up.
WATCH OUT
FOR THE BABY!
Whoa! Nice one!
Good arm! That
knocked the dust
off my mitt!
Whoops, crazy hop!
Hey, switch sides,
I’ve got sunglasses.
Get your glove up.
You throw what
I throw. Now I’ll
do a jump catch.
That’s too high!
Dad, watch this…
TRICKED YA!
You didn’t even know
I had a tennis ball.
Suppertime?! Just
one more—I mean
one of each—grounders,
pop-up, fastball.
Do we have to go in?
Okay. Hey, Dad?
When can we play
catch again?
Posted in Aesthetics, Children's Poetry, Education, Entertainment, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Relationships | Tagged: baseball, Dad, sons, boys, glove, mitt, fastball, grounder, pop-up, backyard, catch | 1 Comment »
Posted by restorel66 on April 25, 2008
A baseball sits in a box on my shelf.
The box is clear so I can see
the neat red laces and the smudge
on the word Rawlings where the batter
(his name is Polanco) sent it
on its way to me. It’s called
a foul ball, but there’s nothing foul
about it as far as I’m concerned.
I stood at my seat on the first
base side, cried, “Here it comes!“,
raised my arms high, my bare
hands cupped together, and snagged it.
The guy in front of me said he felt it
glance off his fingers. The usher
came to ask if I was okay. I was,
but I felt it the next day, the kind
of pain I didn’t wish to go away.
april, 2008
Posted in Aesthetics, Education, Entertainment, Poem, Poems, Poetry | Tagged: baseball | Leave a Comment »
