Baseball was our life
when we were kids.
We grew up in the dirt
of the infield and outfield.
No grass for us. The town
was poor and water was scarce, but
we did have a nice wire-mesh backstop
with a concrete foundation.
Our heroes were Mickey Mantle,
Joe DiMaggio, Lou Gehrig and
Duke Snider. Also Warren Spahn,
Bob Feller, Ted Williams and others.
Our own pitcher was also named Bob.
He was pretty fast but could not
throw a curve. None of us could,
but neither could the other teams.
I was the only one who knew
about Charlie's special powers,
because just the two of us were there
at the hot springs incident that day.
He didn't want me to tell
anyone else. I didn't understand
why at first, but later came to see
that it really was better that way.
One day we had a game against
Richfield, our biggest rivals.
Charlie was at shortstop and I
was playing left field.
As we were taking the field
at the beginning of the fourth inning,
Charlie whispered to me,
Play this next guy really deep.
As soon as Bob starts his windup,
you come running toward me
as fast as you can. He's going to try
to drop one in front of you.
I did as Charlie suggested, and
the batter hit a short pop fly
just out of the reach
of the infielders.
I came in running at full speed
and just managed to catch the
ball right before it would
have hit the ground.
I became a reluctant hero,
instantly. I would have liked
to give Charlie the credit, but
he shook his head to tell me no.
to be continued...
Looking forward to more. You are bringing me back to my own youth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Charlie may not be real, but I would certainly like a friend like him.