Throwing Heat

The kid’s last name was Driver,
Perfectly suited for golf and
Throwing from the mound.

From my seat in the dugout
I wondered about my turn and
If my bat could get around.

The time came for me to bat
So I dug in with nervousness and
Confidence not yet found.

He threw a pitch
Faster than I had ever seen and
All my muscles unwound.

The bat hit the ball squarely
No feeling in the handle and
The most beautiful aluminum bat sound.

The ball took off with great purpose,
Heading for the left field line and
Landed in foul territory outside of the playing ground.

He looked back with elevated anger
I got ready for something faster and
Hoped for another pitch to pound.

The replay was nearly the same
His pitch, my swing, but just
A bleeder hit back to the mound.

He fielded the ball, threw over to first and
Stared me down as I ran to out the play,
His ego restored on the grassy diamond.

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