With the race long, long over,
with my team mired in last place,
the September call-ups breathe
new life into a moribund season,
There he stands, the Rook,
just called up from Triple A
awaiting the first pitch of
his major league career.
He eschews a ball low and away,
and then, crack, he scorches
a line drive over the
the right fielder’s head.
The crowd erupts in a standing ovation,
a brief moment of hope in an
errant season, a harbinger?
The ball is tossed into the dugout,
a gift for his parents to treasure.
And for one shining moment,
this season, if not the next one,
beams electric.