The smell of grass and the hot sticky air
A thick red helmet around my hair.
Gatorade slipping down my throat
My name in the sand with my bat, I wrote.
Strike one! The batter's first swing is null.
Strike two! This pitcher is on a roll!
Strike three! Oh no; it hit the light pole.
We drop our gloves and we run to our cars.
That pole still stands with its lightning scars.
We finished the game when the storming had stopped.
That softball game has never been topped.
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Random Poems
PoesíaFor all of my poems that are not about love, dreams, or whatever else.
