Muscles taut, spring-like traps, cocked to unload
At swooooshing ninety-mile-an-hour
Fast balls sliding across the plate. A swing
And a miss, but tension builds, pitcher sets,
Catcher signals in secret crouch ... slider.
Up to bat a veteran, no rookie
To the game, peers coolly at the pitcher
Whose cunning is well known. The ball is thrown
With lightning speed, faster than eye can see,
Arms react, bat connects, out of the park!
© 2003 Thomas A. Ekkens
This poem appears in my chapbook entitled Blank Verse.