The Hot Corner

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I stand at the end of the jagged chalk line,
anticipating the next hit coming my way.
Glove in the dirt, I watch
the pitcher approves the sign,
with the quick nod of his head, he sets.
His arm in a perfect L propels the ball.
His inside fastball is a blur,
but fails to deceive the batter,
who turns and drills it down the line
I quickly turn to right and dive
gliding through the fine dirt
the ball skips into my glove
as dust fills my eyes.
I jump up as if my legs were spring loaded
I plant my feet and sling the ball to first
it swiftly flies over the pitcher’s head
Dropping effortlessly into the pocket
of the first baseman's glove.
Out!
 






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