By Erik Taylor

As we get up
The smell of sweat and old onions
Perfect record gone
like a home run
The growling crowd screaming
Like a baby that lost there toy

Standing on the line
Waiting for my hand to  be raised
As the smack of the hand
Sounding like a bat hit a ball
Frustration of a mother
that say the desecrate
of a child

A quick glance
at the smile
on my beautiful face
The love and joy
of compliments
and cheering
They all knew
he was beatable

Comment Stream

a year ago

Good Job

a year ago

heck yea boi

a year ago

Good Job!