The black prince

Learned to play first like it was ballet.
Grew up in the Santa Clara Valley,
Where each March,
When the season started,
Light and clouds shifted above blooming orchards,
In unforgettable interplay.

Track walkers

Train rumbling by
Boys wind up
Aim rock at boxcar insignia’s.
”Iron Man Joe!
Christy Mathewson!”

Observing the motion
Feeling the rush
They throw again and again.

Then the train hurries to the dugout.

Fists on hips
Looking down the track
They wait for the next batter.