Hickory Poems 4 by Tim Peeler

The flaming July sun
And the red dust rose
Every time a grounder
Scooted toward the shortstop’s glove,
Glancing sometimes off a bit
Of dust red granite into his naked chest
Or off his chin, and he came up
Throwing and spitting blood
From a bitten tongue.
He wore a boy’s work pants,
Cut off raggedly above
His bruised ankles
Hiding the electric cord stripes
That daddy put there last night.
He had a broken upper tooth
And the finger he held outside
His glove was jammed and swollen blue.
When it was his turn,
He leaned over the plate
And holding the bat cross-handed,
He swung at every pitch.

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3 Responses to “Hickory Poems 4 by Tim Peeler”

  1. donalmahoney1 Says:

    I was more than a little impressed by the quality of this poem written by a poet I had not encountered before. A Google search revealed that I should have heard of him. Others might like to learn more about Tim Peeler at http://www.blairpub.com/authors/peeler_tim.htm

  2. Tim is one of my favorites.

  3. You took me back to my days of little league, Tim. Thank you.

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