Striking Out
The color of lemonade washing the sky—
Popsicle memories revive
Of baseball connecting with ash wood, hit high
In an arcing, outfield drive.
Are summers forever? Or only a day?
Moth-eaten , major-league hat…
December’s the umpire, miscalling the play,
And there’s ice on my Louisville bat.
Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2009
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