Pitcher:
He or she has just discovered the North Pole
and, behind the back, holds a snowball,
glowering down at the world.
Catcher:
The amalgam.
Body, a badger's.
Face, a prisoner's.
Legs, a knight's.
One arm, a deaf person's.
The other arm, a crab's.
Umpire:
An angry parent
yelling at the kids,
who just want to play.
Outfielders:
Three deer graze in a meadow.
A shot rings out.
They raise their heads.
They're on the move.
First Base:
A hometown kid.
Rarely leaves the house
but entertains a lot.
Dugout:
A rookery.
One bird leaves.
The others rearrange themselves.
Crowd:
Wildflowers on a terraced slope.
Blotches of paint.
A chorus of bees.
Third Base:
This one guards a thin white line.
An accountant.
Foul or fair. Profit or loss.
Second Base:
The bull charges.
The bullfighter whirls and leaps.
Shortstop:
Holds dual citizenship.
Travels a lot.
Rents, doesn't own.
Not a joiner.
Vendor:
An evangelist.
Base Coaches:
Performance artists,
gossips, and hired applauders.
Pitching Coach:
A lachrymose intermediary.
Managers:
When they arise from the basement,
it means trouble has come.
Adults forced to wear children's clothes.
