“Practice your piano,” my mother said,
“No going out until one hour is done.”
“But, Mom, I got a game in a little while.”
Know from this boy’s heart, baseball was bled.
“No matter,” she said, “piano first, then you can go.
I’m going next door for a visit.” I didn’t know what to do.
The phone rang. I answered. “Hey, get here, now,” the
voice said, “we’ll forfeit, we need one more guy to show.”
“C’mon,” he said, “get yourself to the diamond, we play
the Spartans at Gage Park.” He banged down the phone.
I thought, I’ll need my bike to get there. I have to sneak so
Mom doesn’t know; the park’s a mile and a half away.
Got my glove and bat and snuck to the garage
Hopped on my bike and peddled, made it in time
Played shortstop, got three hits, and two RBI
I rode home in a wonderful baseball mirage
It lasted until I got home, covered with dirt
Mom was waiting “Get yourself washed and
sit down at the piano, until your hour is done,
then you can eat, but, my dear son, no desert.”
|
| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem of any type and length about your life as a kid. Share that flashback. Make us laugh or cry. |
|
