Monday, November 3, 2014


Flat rough field
Flat enough,
Just barely flat enough
To run without too much trouble
Wheeling around the base paths or chasing
Wild hop grounders
That danced with infield rocks.
Flat rough field
Full of heroes
Fifteen or so legends
In fifteen or so minds
Whose sandlot deeds became mythic
With endless re-telling from imaginary broadcasters.
Flat rough field
Sweat covered midmornings
And dusty late afternoons
Sweltering days
Frozen in time
Rippling heat figures and late day shadows
With eyes forever on the ball
Bats dented and splintered swinging through the slow summer air
Powered by late afternoon weary arms
Held by hands still stinging from last inning’s line drive
Late dusty shadows
Called by distant voices to dinner
Drifting in lines that are rarely ever straight for home.

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