because it is almost PRO BEISBOL SEASON en ESTADES UNIDOS...

A partner to play catch with the sky’s lightning

A tribe of primitive throwbacks crouches
solitary and silent beneath
blazing ceremonial poles that light
purple summer nights
Catchers dressed in ceremonial attire
squat and assume a sacred position
Sneaking quick glances at
Thick-ribbed batters
Who take practice swings
that cleave the air
Leaving cool breezes of false confidence
These catchers grab rough dirt
with stubby fingers awaiting
hitters in apparent unhurried ease
Tapping on cleated shoes
Rubbing a hardwood club with dark pinetar
As if they could stickily summon
friendly spirits which would guarantee
Reaching a white pillowed base of safety
And at last this would—be slugger
enters the box of sacred white lines
For it is then that the fairness
or foulness of life spreads outward
from this starting place
Like a curtain slowly parting
to observe a passion play
As thousands in this concrete cavern roar
Calling on heroes to begin the game
Yelling at an all seeing umpire
Hidden behind an impartial mask

But all must wait each inning
and between every pitch

For a catcher to offer up a sign
Just as the first man must have done
Squatting as buttocks bounce against heels
Waiting and hoping for a partner
To play catch with the sky’s lightning
Because catchers are a tribe of throwbacks
Flashing secrets with their fingers,
Broken by seasons of foul tips
Because catchers are always imagined to be there
And it is only after they allow
a throw to get by them we notice their existence
Much like G-d we view them as indispensable
but ignored until we call on them
to throw out or block evil
Catchers kneeling as if in prayer
again and again
Before a magical mound to summon offerings
Barbaric breath stopping 3rdstrike sliders
Knee high and impossible to hit
Which cut corners of a meaty plate
sharper than a honed gutting knife
Drawing blood and something
much more precious
From embarrassed batters
Who hunker slowly back
through cursing shadows
To hide in dug out caves.
About This Poem:
beisbol my one true love...

'A partner to play catch with the sky’s lightning' Copyright © Zyskandar A JaimotCopyright is property of the above author.