The arc of the ball,
the arc of life –
I could throw a ball then,
watch its trajectory
as it gained height
on its way home to catch
a speeding runner rounding third.
I could pitch then,
mixing fast ball and curve
as I mowed down batters
in Little League games.
Now, sitting in my lawn chair,
behind a wire fence,
I can just watch
the Little League players
who throw the ball with easy abandon.
I get up slowly, creakily, to watch
my grandson advancing to the plate,
and think of the arc of baseballs,
rising majestically to the sky before
plummeting down to the ground.