BASEBALL

The lights turn on,
revealing a sight,
a field where dreams are made.
Watch them come out: center, left, then right,
then comes second, third, first, and, of course, shortstop.
Last to arrive are the catcher and pitcher,
the cream of the crop.

The batter steps up, ready to go,
but it’s too bad,
because he was too slow.
Now the home team is up, hoping to win.
The ball is thrown,
and the bat starts to spin.
The pitcher starts to groan,
the ball leaves the bat just like a whip,
the home team has just won,
one to zip.

This poem was written/submitted by Patricia M. Gorecki.