My son, James, blasted whiffle balls
off the aluminum siding,
smiled a bit at the power of his swing,
and pumped a fist in excitement,
but then the storms rolled in,
humid and electric,
so the Little League games
were cancelled.
Some days batting practice
is for its own sake,
for the whizz of a ball
as it flies past your ear,
and the anticipation,
flinch of shoulders, just before
it smashes into the garage, and
comes to rest in the garden.
Some days batting practice
is simply batting practice,
but every day we must be ready
for the big game.
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