kiss from a shortstop

It was truly the only time I desired a kiss from a shortstop.

Muscles tensed in anticipation,

Ponytail fluttering, windsock-like,

gauging direction and speed,

as she waited, crouching, open armed,

Welcoming the speeding white orb.

Swallowed up in her cat like grasp,

For a split second, suspended in my memory, a Greek statue,

Brown and glistening,

Balanced on one foot,

Turned and launched,

A rocket blur of arm.



The first baseman,

Uncoiling as a human slinky,

toward the throw,

Ball disappearing in a white puff of dust.



My shortstop, my Grecian work of art, turns,

thumb up in my direction,

Goddess of the diamond,

“Told you I could” smirk in her smile.