Home Run

A sports metaphor hit home cleanly.

Home Run

The ball flew cleanly through the air
It wasn’t mine to catch
I knew too keenly, well aware
My mitt wasn’t a match
It just wasn’t my ballgame
Not even my league
Not sure why I’m in this frame
From a montage now we segue
To a crowd with expectations
To a field plagued with doubt
A pitcher at his station
A hitter with some clout
With all four bases loaded
It all lies on this catch
Yet the truth is times been bided
In this game I am outmatched
As ball glides, clumsy through the air
The pitcher’s played his ruse
The bat is swung with swagger, flair
The batter cuts it loose
Starting on their final run
As bases start to clear
I hate this game, it should be fun
Yet all I feel’s fear
Fear as the ball arcs down
In arms reach of my glove
The commentators muted sound
Words won’t ground… above
Beneath the noise the hitter guns
Through bases, not for me
To their home, the hitter runs
… the ball’s left flying free