In baseball I struggled,
felt the pain of getting it wrong
when my turn to hit crept up the row.
Even when I knew everything I did wrong
and memorized my flaws,
IÕd still get it wrong,
and then it would be over,
the awful feeling, the ball
clinging off the end of the bat
rising only too late to avoid
the ÒI got itÕsÓ around me. I was never
the best kid on the field,
but I had talent I knew was good,
yet was afraid to tell anyone.
Months later all of my talent came out, flawless
hits I practiced over and over,
doubles or triples, my own hits
on the field, recorded
in the scorekeeping book, practicing
anticipating by turn, my time, a way of finally getting it right.