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.