Our Pastime

Our pastime

It flew thru the air like a white dove.

The game was over in one simple leap and catch.

Celebrating his victory he danced like a flag in the wind.

My boasting best bud Angelo's victories never bothered me.

The American pastime had become our daily pastime.

Every day after a hardy peanut butter and jelly sandwich,

we would run to meet at our field.

It had the greenest grass perfect for sliding.

There were giant gray rocks that took us an hour to find,

together we had painted them white to make the bases.

Finally it was time to play.

Up to bat Angelo thought he was a pro,

He would bend his knees, take a few practices swings,

he was ready.

I on the mound with my backwards red baseball cap,

threw that ball as hard as I could.

Crack like the sound of a firecracker the ball went soaring.

Over my head like a refreshing breeze the ball went by.

Angelo with his red hair gleaming in the sun and his torn ripped jeans,

would go running as quickly as a rabbit around the bases.

I without thought dash like a fox to retrieve the ball.

Unnoticed was the sweat on our skin, the dirt on our clothes,

and the hours that rapidly went by.

Hour after hour,

hit after hit.

The blanket of darkness the covered our field, told us when to go home.

At the time love was not about a person,

it was about a pastime.

But years have gone by.

Times have changed.

The bat is down, the gloves are off and the game is officially over.

The one time field of passion and excitement is gone.

It is now a parking lot for a super store.

The love of the game has faded with our childhood.