The dream is to play ball
hard with the big boys –
the warm summer air fragrant
with peanuts and beer,
the big arc lights shining
like powerful suns,
the players tossing easy
on the foul lines,
the cross cut pattern
of grass in the bright field,
the dull crack of balls
thudding into soft gloves,
the innuendo of faces.
In the murmuring crowd
a young man loosens his
tie, digging a finger into
his moist white collar.
The rookie looks into the
dark sky and prays for a hit.
In a corner of his mind
a yellow cornfield stirs
like the voice of his father:
“Keep your eye on the ball, son.
Way t’go, that a’boy.”