What you can’t pay back you try
To pay forward; Dad was a
Preacher, a job that gave him
The flex to be these other
Things he wanted, Little League
Baseball coach, backyard catcher,
Set his own hours, always
Found time to work on pitching
With me most afternoons: he
Worked for the Lord even when
He sat on that bean pickin
Stool calling for the slow curve,
Left knuckle down on the seam—
When my time came, I worked with
Runners instead of ballers,
A kid from the church, students,
A nephew, my reluctant
Boys, who never really
Caught the bug the way I did—
Now I’m still waiting to see
What they will do.
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