country hardball

Thursday, October 24, 2013

   based on an email from Uncle Nat

You don’t know
country hardball
until you’ve played
with the same ball
for three years running,
a ball aged by soaking
and lying in the shade
between rows of corn
all fall, retrieved frozen
in March, and in May
still frozen, hit directly
into your worn
leather glove at short…
stung the palm
pulsing. Why scouts
never appreciated our
handicaps is beyond me.

 

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