by Peter M. Gordon
Crouch in the batter’s box. Dig toes in the dirt.
Peer over my left shoulder toward the mound
Hands back and high.
Watch the poems flung at me from the dark.
Nouns and verbs fly straight to the plate
Then dart towards my knees
Adverbs whiz just outside the strike zone
To thump against the backstop.
I swing at everything.
Sometimes I whiff wildly
Spinning around into the dirt
Sometimes barely tip one
That squibs foul down the baseline.
When I connect
Words line back up the middle
Or fly down the line in left
Rolling toward the fence as I slide into second
Sometimes a sweet shiver runs
From the tip of my pen to my shoulders
I send words to soar high
Against the night sky
They fall over the fence
To land in verses straight and true
I circle the bases
Peter M. Gordon has worked as a theatre director, writer, teacher, television programmer, and producer. He always loved reading poetry, and began writing poetry a few years ago when an essay he was writing about his oldest son came otu as a poem. He lives in Orlando, Florida, where he’s a member of the First Monday Poetry Group. Peter’s poems most recently appeared in 34th Parallel Magazine and in “Poetry to Feed the Spirit.” Peter also writes a content development blog: www.myprogramidea.blogspot.com