Last Chance

The curved wood sure felt soft,

Slick and smooth, held aloft-

Catching the morning sun like a living jewel.



The boy stepped up to the plate,

Glowing eyes, uncertain fate,

Two out, one on, all up to him.



Sweating hands, beating heart,

Swinging, swaying, a false start.

Lunging, closing eyes, forgetting skills.



Last chance now, clenching teeth,

Shutting out the noisy grief,

Chaos swirls around his wiry frame.



It’s just a game, just a game-

Such thoughts are meaningless to him,

Doesn’t realize glory may yet come for him again.



The pitch is fast, the stance is good.

Solid leather meets hard wood,

The arc of flight so beautiful, the whole ballpark grows still.


Time has frozen, his mind takes,

A picture time will not erase.

Clearing the fence by at least three feet,

Who knew life could be so sweet?




by Glenn Yates circa 1990