Tonight's Poet Corner: Their Own Little League

Their Own Little League
by Belinda Roddie

The sky is red. The grass
is apple green. A girl swings a bat
and catches leather on the autumn
breeze. She tips the brim of her cap
so her father can't see her eyes. He
pitches her his best fastball. She sends it
to the next neighborhood over.

They go out for frozen yogurt later,
just the two of them. They know that
the Irish pub downtown will be playing
tonight's Wild Card game. She doesn't like
watching baseball because it reminds her
that, at least for now, she can never hit
against the likes of Bumgarner or Greinke
or Arrieta. Her father understands. Twenty
years ago, he got to the minors and never
rose any higher than that.

Chocolate and vanilla swirl, plus
worn out mitts and home plate tricks,
are what bring this pair together. Tomorrow,
they'll try out the next park for practice. Softball
teams call out the girl's name, but to her,
it's not the same. Instead, Dad and Daughter
will duke it out together as the leaves fall,
creating a better game than any ticket,
soft pretzel, beer, or chili dog can buy.