(about 1992)
Listen to the common sounds of the field:
the staccato clanging of the backstop,
blurred conversations of parents,
cheers of the opposing team.
"Way to go . . . way to go . . ."
Imagine they're saying that to you.
But because you know they're really not . . .
Make certain your hands are dusty.
Listen to your father shouting-
(the sound, not the words-
the words won't help now).
Cancel out the fact that you
walked the last batter.
make sure the ball doesn't shine;
if it does, twist it into the dirt.
Look at the mound and focus on the dust.
Take the toe of your cleated shoe
and wipe lines into the dust.
Don't keep track of balls or strikes . . .
what do they matter?
Think of the tough chic up to bat
trying to out-stare your glare
and let the sun in your eyes
make you angry
so the adrenaline will surge your arm.
Don't lose the adrenaline.
Make sure you push your hair back into the cap
which must be turned slightly to the right
so that your right eye and its edge
make a direct line to the catcher's mitt.
Take your time.
Position your fingers on the threads of the ball
so you feel the leather spin off the tips of your fingers--
like a miracle.
Take the excitement of roller-coasters,
the freedom of seagulls,
and the force of the mountains overtowering.
Breathe in the sweating hot grass.
And throw . . .