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30 Poems in 30 Days
Bottom of the Ninth
Poem the ninth
Two outs — score tied —
the cake is in the oven.
Wind up — let fly —
a sloppy batter spells defeat.
The pitcher cool — iced lemonade —
with eyes like sharpened knifes —
he pitches sweet, his aim is straight —
the ball cuts a perfect slice.
Nobody likes a soggy bottom:
the batter cringes in his spot —
his grip is sweaty, he takes his swing —
he will rise or fall, tonight.
A crack — a thud —
the ball goes wide, sailing overhead.
Not foul yet — it grazes glove —
And his heart stops dead.
Run! — the team yells — then Safe! — ump calls —
as he drops wetly to the plate —
from the crowd, a timer dings —
nothing’s as sweet as winning tastes.
This poem was written as part of a challenge (to myself) to write 30 poems in 30 days to celebrate turning 30. If you’d like to join me in writing a poem a day from March 6–April 5…
