Baseball Poem 

THIS IS THE DAY 

  by Tim Peeler

When every relationship and previously
Understood concept feels tenuous.
Albeit the gravity grows weak
And the voices that rise
Are not the sanguine few
You remember as wise, the coaches
 That actually "knew" something
 Beyond the roar of their anger- 

Now your days on the field
 Are gone or have slipped
Into the churn and become
Sweet buttered memories,
 Not the indecisive hell
Of rounding second not knowing
Where the ball was and the
Third base coach hollering
At a player on the bench
While they trapped you in
A rundown. 

You recall
The running outfield catches
Of a sunny childhood, not the
Dark liner lost in the lights till
It roared toward you
Like a car with one headlight.
Memory is the shaky tightrope
You wrap your dreams around;
And faith in the past, the balance
To get you through this day.

  From
“Waiting for Godot's First Pitch.”

  with permission of the author

www.mcfarlandpub.com