Friday, June 28, 2013

A Poem by Rick Hartwell

Little League
I see a baseball player
in full regalia,
cocky hat,
strutting cleats,
on his way to a night game;
bat slung on his shoulder,
mitt dangling from his hand.
These are days of thrill
for him as he click-clacks
across an asphalt road and
onto the concrete sidewalk.
He’s a superstar raised on high,
riding three-quarter inch stilts
above common spectators,
those still  ignorant of his
presumed superiority,
all except me, as I turn into the
parking lot of lost intentions.
Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather still be tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon.

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