Pitching In
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Gently, on a baked ceiling of a park
a boy ruffles my fluttering skirt
like a naughty, vagrant wing,
and picks a baseball on the grass…
this smaller kid of almond eyes
clutches it with a longing to play,
but he could not; his legs gave way.
Yet, he claps like all the other kids
such a radiant joy with wobbly feet,
that I liven him up to pitch for one round,
while the team rallies for a new swing.
Taking in the fire of the crimson day,
a lean figure of almond eyes takes his spot
grasping the orb as if it were a white globe.
In a precise twirl, the fast ball reels,
curving much higher, splitting the air
until those limbs swivel off freely…
the batter out: through joy and pain,
one young limping boy of summer’s dream
is never going to be the same again.
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12/8/2015
Contest: Oil Paintings 4 & 5 of Eve Roper
By nette onclaud
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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