Catch
A willow's distant pock
Struck against red leather
Arcs towards one single spot
In all the air beneath the sky
To meet an outstretched hand
Judged right by comprehending eye.
A stagger back towards the boundary
Barely balanced on two feet
With final flex and muscle's leap
Taut arm stretched out to finger's reach
The arcing ball right palm to meet
As body tumbles to the line
With raising hand and triumph's shout
One stand now dares their hoped opine:
'We win!' declares the umpire's 'out!'
Copyright © Bob Kimmerling | Year Posted 2021
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