It’s early in the season
The shortstop is too eager
Rushing grounders with greedy glove
The third baseman cocks his arm
Too long before releasing the ball
The second baseman pivots his head
Unsure of runners to either side
The first baseman remembers to stretch
But forgets his foot a half inch from the bag
It’s early in the season
Come August
The shortstop will balance like a ballet dancer
Timing the catch to beats of his heart
The second baseman will hear the runners
His ears able to detect an ant on the base path
The first baseman will reach with his left leg
Knowingly in sleep to touch his wife’s toe
All will have become part of the same organism
They will be an infield
THE POETRY OF THE GAME