Tied at two, runner on second, two outs, last inning,
And I gotta face this pitcher again, after six empty swings.
I swing and miss.
“Strike one,” the ump calls, although everyone already knows.
I gotta remember when I hit it in my dreams.
“Strike two,” the ump again proclaims the obvious.

Pitcher’s big and got a mean face.
The next pitch nicks my bat and as if on a spring
Pops out of the catcher’s mitt.
The next two are tight on me, and I bail out.
He’s trying to scare me and I glare at him and then step in again.

“Pound it,” someone shouts.
Don’t they know that’s what I want to do?
‘Ball Three.’
I rub dirt on my hands, the bat handle,
My sleeves, my shirt, my face,
Gotta be quick.

He burns another but my bat is aligned
And the ball softly flies toward right.
The first and second basemen scurry out
But the ball teasingly stretches just past their gloves.
I’m standing at first and Jacob is heading for home!
Dad raises his arms straight overhead!
But I didn’t score a touchdown.
I just got a base hit!