When luck runs out, so do your friends.
|The last player lingered,
On the mound of shame.
The team had gone home,
Cursing his name.
The diamond around him,
Just four empty white cases.
But before that last pitch,
There were men on all bases.
In the bottom of the ninth,
With his team up by one,
He needed a strike out,
To prevent enemy runs.
The pressure was building,
The pitcher clenched his fist,
And somehow in his wind-up,
His elbow wound up in a twist.
The relief pitcher was down with flu,
From his duty there was no escape.
He had to make that final throw,
Despite his elbow’s crooked shape.
He spit to the right, tipped his cap to the left,
Prayed his lucky socks made a difference.
But neither rituals nor prayer could save him,
From his fate, there was no deliverance.
The pitch left his fingers abruptly,
Wobbling as it started to dip,
The ball began spinning wildly,
Then connected with the wooden bat’s tip.
Over his head and over the fence,
Oh how that baseball flew.
The pain in his arm was forgotten,
As the pain in his heart now grew.
His dreams of a Major League future,
In tears of failure now swam.
He had given away the big game,
With bases loaded - a home run Grand Slam.
For The Daily Poem Sept 4
PROMPT Write a poem about being alone. You MUST use the following words from the song: DIAMOND, SHAPE, TWIST, DELIVERANCE