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.