Baseball is America's past time;
the green fields and the fresh dirt;
cool, beautiful spring days;
your girlfriend on the bleachers.
The first pitch of the season;
the ball goes over your head;
you chase it sprinting for it;
you dive for it, your mouth full of dirt.
You realize you just made the first out of the season;
your teammates are there helping you up and cheering you on.
as you go up to bat;
you feel a sudden anxiety.
As you warm up at the plate;
your muscles tense;
here comes the pitch;
you nail it, it's gone.
You come up to round first;
there is a kid in the baseline;
you plow him over and you also fall;
you realize you might have sprained your ankle.
You get up and run for second;
you start to round second and realize the ball is coming infield;
you head for third anyway;
you realize the ball was overthrown and you run for home.
As you're halfway there, the catcher catches the ball;
you slide into home;
adrenaline pumping through your veins;
the fear that you might be called out takes over.
As the umpire calls you safe, you get a sense of relief;
before you realize you got the first run of the season;
you realize that your girlfriend is there to help you up.
America's Past Time
Baseball
©
Joshua Corrie
Published by Family Friend Poems August 2011 with permission of the Author.
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