Swizzle Stick

centre outfield

I am far from the action in my bloomers
where I belong. I like softball better
than netball, that other game allowable
to girls, but skills, I have few. I guess

the team believes it's safest to keep
me daydreaming centre-outfield, a zone
into which few balls are hit. When

you look at the skills required
as an outfielder, such as speed,
& an accurate arm to cover more grass,
it's not wise to have me out here,

but I am always out there, and far
from the action I count daisies
on the field, sing songs in my head
in its red school cap, register
the bases on the periphery of my vision.

Everybody wants to pitch,
to bat, everybody wants a home run.
I want a drink of water. Put in centre
outfield, the I not in team is dreaming
outlier, outsider dreams,

when screams reach me, & a missile,
off-white, a blur, flies at me through space
& with unstudied, casual ease & style
I raise an arm & catch that ball,
perfect, effortless, & utterly

shocked at my sudden finesse.
I caught the batter out, & for that minute,
I am the centre of attention, centre outfield.


April 5 -get a sport into a poem