Sliding Into Third

Don't worry.

I'm not about to slide into third base ... or even run the bases, for that matter. Not even slowly.

Still, there's the imagination which is stirred by the warm spring breezes, the proximity of a playing field, the sun on my back.

The possibilities ... and even that is a stretch, too ... are interesting.

If I were really to try it, I can imagine that I might have to call time out ... if and when I reached first base. From there it would be rapidly (or slowly, perhaps) downhill.

I can just see myself going into that slide ... sliding ... and sliding short of the bag ... just lying there like a bag of potatoes.

No thank you. I'll stick to the poetic possibilities ... thank you very much ... as opposed to the reality of these tired old legs.

But, for now, the poem has legs:

SLIDING INTO THIRD

Sometimes,

when I’m walking past

the empty field,

I’m tempted

to go legging it

around the base paths,

sliding into third,

maybe stealing home,

but then I think

about getting caught

in a run-down

between second

and third, cut down

trying to extend

a beseeching leg

to hook the refuge

of that dusty bag,

and the vision

of that humiliation,

the disgrace of being

the winning run

tagged out, finished,

game over, is more

than I can chance.

Still, on one of my

better days,

I just might try it.

© 2000

(originally published in Potpourri)

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Today's word: beseeching