Baseball Echoes

Baseball Echoes

Does anyone remember

when Baseball fields were full

When you always saw a hundred kids

When you drove by every school

Pick-up games of baseball

On every field you’d pass

But now the only scrub that’s there

Is just overgrown, clumpy grass

I drove on by a park today

One that I used to play baseball on

The backstop was all broken

And the dugouts, they were gone

The field was full of garbage

Weeds and echoes of the past

I remembered times between the lines

With a long forgotten cast

 

“HEY MISTER…MOVE…WE’RE PLAYING HERE” “CAN’T YOU MOVE SO WE CAN PLAY?” “HEY BATTER, BATTER, SWING NOW BATTER” “YOU’LL NOT GET A HIT TODAY”

I’d crossed into a baseball game

One from many years before

The ghosts of players long deceased

Were still playing here some more

I crossed back to the dugouts

Stepped behind and they were gone

But, as I stepped back to the old coaches box

I could hear their haunting song

“HEY BATTER, BATTER, BATTER, SWING” “WE WANT A PITCHER, NOT A BELLYITCHER” “HEY BATTER, BATTER, BATTER, SWING” “WE WANT A PITCHER, NOT A BELLYITCHER”

I sat there watching the game take place

On a field not worth a damn

At least not in the present time

Then a kid hit a grand slam

He touched them all as he ran by

I saw it plain as day

The only thing I wished was tha

t I could join them and play

“HEY MISTER, STAND ON  HOME PLATE” “THEN COME WALK OUT TO THE MOUND” “WE KNOW YOU WANT TO JOIN US” “WE KNOW IT’S HALLOWED GROUND”

I did the tasks directed

I joined the players from ago

And as I ran up to the rubber

I went as fast as I could go

I could feel myself get younger

I didn’t know if it was real

But, they say as you get older

You’re just as young as you may feel

I pitched two good strong innings

Then the echoes chose to fade

I knew it was just imagination

Of long lost players I had made

“COME BACK AGAIN TOMORROW” “YOU CAN THROW THAT PELLET KID!” “WE’VE GOT TO GET ON HOME NOW” and…go back…you know I did!

 

After passing by so  many old vacant soccer and baseball fields, left overgrown and unused, that I used to play. I just dreamed that the children who once played there over the years, left some form of energy there, like the ghosts in a James Lumbers painting. I crossed the lines and the game was on…I’ll be back again tomorrow, I have to ice my arm now.            
 

   

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