I like the imagery in this piece, and the wonder of a child watching a baseball game is always enjoyable to think about. I’m not sure of the author’s actual name, as the poem is posted only with the username, Obthompson. You can find the original post here.
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The scoreboard reads:
Bottom nine.
2 out;
3 on.
“Batter up!” comes the shout,
Way back in the stands sits a child effervescent with joy;
His father beside him speaks to him softly;
Close your eyes and think,
That could be me.
The roar of the throbbing crowd longing for victory,
Seats teeming with fans
some sad with worry, some happy with glee.
The scuffing of shoes,
The clearing of throats,
The build up to when pandemonium ensues.
That old smell of peanuts,
The roll of the organ,
The batter steps up to take his cuts.
He steps up to the plate,
Breathes; and takes it all in
He closes his eyes and thinks to himself;
Why me and not him?
