Heckled and tired, taking swings with crooked bats.
"Yo battah yo battah yo battah, suwinnng battah!"
This mantra chiming through my weary mind over
and over until it's nothing but a chorus of overused
cliches. I heard it in a movie, forgive me.
The ball is rude and the pitcher has something
against me, I swear it, I heard that in the locker
room. Gossip and chuckling and feckless
glances. What's in my mind, I swear.
I tell myself it's OK to strike out, hit dirt,
dive hard, scuff knees, die on the mound.
The ego expects a win and the audience
must not be disappointed.
A swing, a miss, a wish and a hope
unspoken and unused. Some balls
just aren't meant to be played with.
Comments