Rained Out

Rained Out

 

I never swore I would not write a softball poem!
Darkness strides down the high hill towards the field.

Taking its time so the mist beneath it can depend
like a hanging plant, motionless every time you look.

I turn away to watch the game but something taps my shoulder–
the first drops of rain. People are running for their cars

With their softball gloves on their heads. Though it lasts
only five minutes, the rain turns the red clay infield

Into a giant thumb print of the storm. The umpire
examines it like a tired detective then calls it a night.

Unaffected as true fans, the bluebirds whir and swerve
across the outfield, shagging flies.

8 thoughts on “Rained Out

    1. Jeff Schwaner Post author

      Thanks Ann! You know, “Evening Sky” was Freshly Pressed today, so that post–and your photo–has been viewed by a good number of people this afternoon and evening. Thanks for giving me permission to use that image.

      Reply
      1. Jeff Schwaner Post author

        I can imagine Meng being there! He turned away from public life and made many visits to his equally secluded friends. I can imagine him shunning the bright lights of the brewery down the road and stopping for tea and a view of the moon at my favorite printer’s private compound.

  1. Chris

    “Unaffected as true fans, the bluebirds whir and swerve
    across the outfield, shagging flies.” Great double-play on words.

    Reply

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