He grabbed the handle of the bat
grinned proudly and stepped to the plate
seemed like yesterday when he
taught me how to swing
now he’s in the box
balance giving in to Parkinson’s
I pitch the ball with some heat
strike one, he said, pitch it again
You alright? sure I’m fine, pitch the ball
I throw one slowly, strike two
I search for an excuse not to throw next pitch:
barbecue’s ready, food’s on the table
I looked down at the mound, same browned hump
where he taught me how to settle in and focus
Pitch the ball, he said, don’t be afraid
I did and strike three came
Dad walked to patio,
Mom asked how was the game
Dad grinned and said,
your son can’t pitch worth a damn!
copyright 2008, Frank Messina