The young boy measured the distance carefully
and marked the spot of the imaginary rubber.
He hid the pink spaldeen  behind his right hip,
spreading his fingers over imaginary seams
ready to unleash his curve ball
against the unsuspecting garage door


Day after day the scene repeated.
he was out there in the early spring,
and didn't stop until November snows.
Every day strengthening his right arm
and refining his command
He played out the season in his mind.
He waited for the call to the show that never came-
there not being much demand for a short right hander
who topped out at 90

Someone,  out of kindness, might have told the boy
that he didn't have the talent for the majors.  
I'm glad they didn't
For he had found his version of Heaven
at sixty feet six inches.
God forbid that anyone
should ever  take that away.