As I grow old,
with various body parts
fleeing me en masse,
or conditions torturing
my physical well-being,
happily I think upon baseball,
where the sun shines on the whole field,
and Ernie Banks says, “Let’s play two.”
What keep me younger?
– a five-year old in the stands
with his oversized glove
knowing he will catch a foul ball.
– a rookie up from Triple A
stepping into the batter’s box
for his first at bat.
– a teenager at the ballpark,
learning from his father
how to fill out a scorecard.
I don’t go to too many games now.
I am slower than a walk to first base,
but when I hear the umpire cry,
“Play ball,” I know that despite
uninvited encroachments upon my body,
the world still holds a nine-inning
cornucopia of joyful and future possibilities.