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Array
(
[sid] => 117310
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Rainy Day in Baseballland
[time] => 2006-03-29 17:21:13
[hometext] => Inspired by: Casey at the Bat
[bodytext] => It was a rainy day in Baseballland The players were home in bed One rookie rolled over his eyelids a flutter With dreams of a stand-up triple running through his head The cleats and spikes were all on hooks Along with mitts, bats, and caps And even Cal Ripken Jr. had settled down For a long summer’s nap Outside the rain was pouring down While puddles drenched the field But little Eric Hopkins came to play And his imagination refused to yield His mitt lay soggy in a puddle And his sleeves were drenched with rain As his hands clenched a cold bat with a hope “That springs eternal in the human brain.” Little Eric threw the ball up swung and missed, And the umpire bawked, “Strike one!” He tapped his cleats, picked up the ball, and reminded the ghost crowd, “This rain won’t ruin our fun.” For little Eric loved the game And he loved the feel of stitched leather in his hands As he waved to his mom, who sat with his fabricated wife And his invented kids up there in the fantasy stands And now the imaginary pitcher holds the ball And now he lets it go But little Eric swung and missed again Which made two strikes in a row He metaphorically dusted himself off And picked up the ball once more For often he wished that instead of three strikes The batter could get four But today he realized, it was his day His wishes were his commands So as he squeezed the water from his jersey He raised his finger toward the left-field stands He was Babe Ruth, Mark McGwire, Ken Griffey Jr, and Barry Bonds all together And anything you said about lightning or thunder Wouldn’t be getting him out of this weather For in his head the sun was shinning And the grass was green and dry And he sent that low and away 0-2 pitch Like a rocket into the sky And he arrogantly trotted around the bases Stepped on third and headed toward home plate While his mother yelled from down the street, “Dinner’s cold and you are late!” Excerpt from: The Spit of Siann By: Joseph DeMarco [comments] => 0 [counter] => 536 [topic] => 5 [informant] => Anazasi420 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 7 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ChildrensPoetry )
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