Everyday at five, I pull up the drive, and the game’s on.
In the little league minors are the winners and whiners of my front lawn.
There’s a whole herd of boys and the chattering noise of tradition.
When I get out of my car, I see the ball hit far for a home run.
Home Run! It’s a sacred sight to behold the flight of a home run!
Soaring into the sky bringing feelings of high celebration.
The holy hero hit of which sages have writ since baseball begun.
Such a thunderous smash, listen to the crash of a…window pane.
A sad silence falls when their mother calls from the window.
She’s upset because a big hole is there where the glass was.
Each of the gang hangs his head and my boy’s face is red-humiliation.
That’s when I go to my son and yell, “Look what you’ve done! It was a home run!”