John W. Knight

(Germantown, Maryland)

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Best Poem of John W. Knight

Baseball

The game was tied in the bottom of nine
A runner on third and two out
In the dead still air a mosquito's whine
Was all you could hear, then a shout

"Do something Ben, murder the ball,
For crying out loud get a hit."
Ben strode to the plate to answer the call
The now restless fans knew this was it

He dug in his right foot then positioned his left
And tapped the plate twice with his bat
Then he pulled it back slowly as to measure its heft
And tensed his whole frame like a cat

The pitcher glared in, the Ump hunkered down
...

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