Baseball (My Game) Poem by Megan Leighann Cummings

I can hear the cries of the crowd
High up in the stands.
Flesh against steel, the bat is now
An extension of my hands

The sun beats down from up above
Heat waves rise off clay.
The weather knows it, as I do
That it is time to play.

The pitcher glares from under brim
The catcher shifts his feet.
To hurl a sphere of white-hot flame
Into the summer's heat.

The first pitch soars right past me
I know that's not my hit.
Behind my dust explodes from
Inside the catchers mitt.

Perfect pitch is soon to come
This I know is true
For flame and bat shall yet collide
And ball will fly to blue.

Another pitch is catapulted
Here in this baseball rapture.
Crack of the bat is something
No Kodak can capture.

The dirt beneath my shoes, I hear
But to the cheers I yield
For this is between two beings
Myself and my field.

Around the diamond, I do fly
A creature of infinite fate
No infielder shall stop me 'till
I slide across home plate.

The grass is mine, the fence is mine
I'm labeled by no stat.
But outfielders will quiver
When I step up to bat.