Greatness

When I was small children—
a small child—
I filled my hands with fallen leaves.
Nine in number.
One for each position on the ball field.

I used river smooth stones
to represent the other team.
Fifteen of them.

They needed subs during the game.

Four round magnets
taken from the refrigerator
represented the bases.

I used a crooked stick to measure
the base paths
but never got the diamond shape
to have ninety-degree angles.

The air in the back yard was not quite right
for my pretend stadium
with the rot of the compost pile
seeping out from the covering dirt.

So I set up in the side yard under the maple.

I was all twenty-four players
and two coaches—
one of which picked up a red phone
to call the bullpen.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney