Thursday, March 26, 2015

From the Dugout

I wanted to stand well,
knees flexed, arms loose,
anticipate his pitch,

hold the bat ready,
know the sweet spot
(no junk, no sting).

In dreams, in practice,
our game was play;
we danced around the bases.

I was not ready for the curve
he threw, body blow:
"You are not a player."

Hard hit, hurting,
I dropped the bat,
the ball, the game.


3 comments:

Dick Jones said...

It was a tough game! I like this extended metaphor - neat and punchy.

Mary Bast said...

Thank you. And now I'm enjoying your Patteran blog and its symbolism ("an arrangement of stones and sticks in the form of a coded message left by Gypsies at the roadside for those following on"). I was at readings today from our just-published Bacopa Literary Review. I hope you'll consider submitting to the 2012 issue (submission period opens in June 2011).

Dick Jones said...

Thanks in return, Mary. I've taken due note and will certainly submit in June.

I look forward to further exchanges.