Baseball Sorrows

((short poem I wrote after my last baseball game))

The hot sun burns a hole in my back
I play even though talent I lack.
I see Coach flick his hat
A giant of a boy steps up to bat.
The pitch is wound, I hope and pray
Please don't let that ball come my way.
But against my wishes
right field is where it's hit
I close my eyes
And hold up my mitt.
I stand there alone
As time slowly crawls by
I hear the ball hit the grass
And try not to cry.
The crowd goes wild
As I chase 'round the ball
But not before seeing
My coach's face fall.