Will you write the poem
That brushes me back?
That chases me
To the warning track?
The verse that comes at me
With spikes flying high?
That blinds with the
Glare of a sun-bright sky?
Will your words flow
With a shortstop’s ease,
Then stop my breath
Like a suicide squeeze?
Will your poem smack
Like a fist in the glove?
Will it quicken the heart
Like the game I love?