Inherent Abilities
He awakened each morning-
To the winnowing train whistle,
And the glowing appearance of a day-
Undeniably fitting of summer;
The heavens yet lingered pink,
Unlocked screen doors ~ sturdy in nature,
The aroma of freshly baked bread pervading-
Throughout the old coal-mining town,
Carefully prepared peanut butter
Sandwiches by the dozen;
Eighteen clumsy, bright-eyed boys-
Huddled at the dusty patch field ~ Isabella ~
Undoubted innocence ~ children of joy ~
Without decoration ~
Only freckled faces, Wrangler blue jeans-
And sneakers, crew cuts and striped t-shirts ~
Without numbers;
Blasphemous parents were obscure,
No policemen to summon ~
Playing ball until the soft fingertips-
Of the radiant sun caressed the blue moon,
Dashing home before the curfew puffed,
Only to begin...again,
Four home runs today,
The Natural ~
No fortune ~ no fame,
Simply perfect passion for the game.
Written for my dad, Paul Redzanic, Jr.
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