A Poem by Rick Hartwell

Little League

 

I see a baseball player

in full regalia,

cocky hat,

strutting cleats,

on his way to a night game;

bat slung on his shoulder,

mitt dangling from his hand.

 

These are days of thrill

for him as he click-clacks

across an asphalt road and

onto the concrete sidewalk.

 

He’s a superstar raised on high,

riding three-quarter inch stilts

above common spectators,

those still  ignorant of his

presumed superiority,

all except me, as I turn into the

parking lot of lost intentions.

 

 

 

Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather still be tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon.