Baseball Poem

A Baseball Game (Free verse)

  
The ump showed up early.
Sharply dressed
His pants, meticulously creased.
His gold watch glinting in the 4 o'clock
End of March southern California sun.
He held a sour look
It was his first line of defense.

The manager of the Astros
Was what you might call
An easy going type.
A long-time bachelor, and a slob to boot.
He always had a quick sly grin
Popped his gum unceasingly.
His face like an old first-baseman's glove;
Tanned brown with wear,
The stitching undone,
Staggeringly wrinkled from so much daily use.

He strolled over to home,
Tugging at the bottom of his extra-large shirt
Which barely covered the expanse of his girth,
Slapped the ump on the back
and announced that the teams
were a little behind getting the field ready
and could we start the game at a quarter past?

The ump looked at his watch without saying a word
Held up his right hand for a moment,
Then brought it down like an ax,
"Play Ball!" he shouted
2 inches from the Astros manager's leathery face.