Left Field Fly
Now at bat, he taps his feet and sets his stance
Squaring his shoulders to prepare for the pitch.
The catcher signals, and with merely a glance,
He knows there’s been a last minute switch.
The curve won’t do on a day like this.
They hope the slider will sail past.
But the batter adjusts, and he will not miss –
This game will not end like the last.
As leather hits wood, a crack is heard
And the crowd is on their feet.
He runs, head down – he will not be deterred –
As they stand from out of their seats.
Will it land in a glove or soar over the wall?
Welcome to April; it’s time for baseball.