That Ball

by Nicolas Neal

That ball.
Its color?
White with flecks of brown.
Its seams?
Red.
Faded red.
That ball.
Leaves the pitchers hand.
It twists.
Taunts.
Can turn the mighty to the meek.
The meek to the mighty.
It makes you.
It grips you.
It mocks you.
It sails slowly.
It journeys its way to my bat.
It keeps you up at night.
Is the perfect antagonist.
To any batter.
The sad part is.
I like it that way.