The Slugger

The slugger digs in, with a grin for the pitcher

His sturdy hands crush the bat handle

Sawdust squeezes between his knuckles

Through a cheek full of seeds, he calls out his challenge

“Give me your best shot old man!”

The fans fall silent, anticipating

From the mound, a nod imperceptible

He comes set for a moment, and brings the heat

The bat blurs as the hitter unwinds

Driving the ball far and away

The crowd roars, as their hero rounds the bases

Fists held high in triumph

One voice rises above them all, calling

Father puts arm around son

And they go in to dinner