Time to step up to the plate, now it's time to be a man.
Analyzing the infield, all I see,
is her I'm ignoring at first,
at second, she, who I should have let go, but I'm still hoping to reach.
the one i can only dream of at third.
The ball is my chance.
First pitch, a strike.
First is cute, but would i be happy?
Second is good looking and smart, should i stop pretend, or do I really have a shot?
Thrid is beautiful, is it even possible for me?
The chance is getting away from me, as I take a fastball for strike two.
The 90 feet to first base feel longer than ever, second base looks like it's out of reach, am I even thinking about third?
The pitch is on it's way, to hit a longball is out of question, a base hit might be possible,
is there a chance I could stretch it to second?
I'm swinging and making contact,
Is it a hit?
Am I grounding out and missing my chance att first?
Is this the start of the game? Are we in the bottom of the ninth?
I don't know anymore,
And when will I know the answer? Was it a hit? Was it a ground out?
Will i ever know?
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Inspired by my own situation, and inspired by the game of baseball and difficult decisions.
Comments about this poem (The Diamond by Joel Nilsson )
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