Two Hands

by Tom Keenan

“Use two hands”, my father told me,
When he gave me my first glove.
“Or one day you might see,
A ball you will be bereft of.”

I’d drift back for the ball,
And from home plate he’d yell
“Use two hands, make your call,
And guide it to the well.”

On a soft liner, I’d reach with one,
And he’d remind once again.
“You need to use two hands, my son,
It’s a basic of fielding zen”

Pop up tower, unsteady feet,
“Secure it with your bare hand,
And it’ll hold like concrete,
Even falling from your stand.”

When I made the winning catch,
The precious ball started to slide,
I still made the game end snatch,
And my father looked on with pride.

A Mets victory just an out away,
As I watched a win fall to the grass,
I know now, what my father would say,
“Now, that guy, he is just a jackass”

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