They came as nine.
Perfect for this game.
Third base line seats tucked
behind the opposition dugout.
Every cheer and shout directed
at the pristine field. Five were brothers;
one by proxy. Three were cousins, close.
The ninth, a long time compatriot, a brother
of sorts; cohorts in this simple game. Hit. Catch.
Throw. Wouldn’t you know it would be so simple?
“A sky so blue, it’d hurt your eyes to look at it!”
A strand of clouds lined the outfield. Contrasting,
completing; highlighted in pinkish tones. No bones about it.
Our father was punctuating a perfect day, in “the land of the free,
and the home of the brave”. Play Ball!
Walt Photo by Aron Martinez (Coca-Cola Field Security Man)