Pivot in the box. Square up.
Surrender to the pitcher.
Slide your top hand up the barrel,
don't squeeze, keep your hands
soft, bend your knees.
You need to keep your balance.
Let the ball come to you --
be patient. Don't stab at it.
Point your bat, absorb the shock,
and hope the ball stays fair.
Afterwards expect no high-fives,
no headlines, no contract
extension. No one bunts
himself unto an all-star team.
You do it because that runner
on first, he needs to come home.
He's your teammate,
he's your brother, he's your son.
and you, you're the guy who still
knows how to lay one down.
Mike Cochrane, Southern Poetry Review, 55.2.
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