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.

 


Published in Free Verse, The Game Itself | Link to this poem | 4 Comments

That Ball: 4 Comments

  1. James Finn Garner wrote,

    Great job. Welcome to the lineup.

  2. Stephen Jones wrote,

    🙂

  3. Nicolas Neal wrote,

    Thank you for liking my poem!! Hopefully I can write some more in the future.

  4. James Finn Garner wrote,

    Looking forward to it.

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