The Grapevine Art & Soul Salon

dull crack of splintered ash wood
sends jagged shards with wicked edges
throughout infield

ignore them

cannon ball of muddy deerskin
coming, cutting divets of sod
humming over blades of grass
(in neat rows like frightened soldiers)
hopping and skipping towards you

watch topspin!

get glove down between legs
and trap it, a frightened animal
squeezed close and warm
in the supple padded leather

glance at runner:
limbs and sweat flying
legs pumping
cleats spraying mud and chalk

doesn’t matter

only waiting glove at first
stretched toward you and opened wide
like a carnivorous flower

become the glove
like a Japanese archer of old
no sights, no sounds
the ball is just…there

crowd spills a symphony of sound
whistles, cheers, stomps, roar

dust uniform
pop glove
a couple of times with your fist
and spit:

done it all before