Pressure Poem by Victoria Horn

Fresh pressed dirt on the diamond
Cleats leaving their mark
Looking through the opponents crowd
Everyone takes their position

Handing off the ball
To the nervous pitcher
Make some practice throws
Hearing the advice of the distant catcher

Taking in deep breaths now
Batter steps up to the plate
Umpire gives the OK to start the game
Anxious eyes pierce the fence

Right foot back
Ball in mitt
Arm swings back
Release!

3 strikes you're out
Are how the rules go
It wasn't a game
It was victory