Sacrifice BuntBy Lucy Jacobs

You hold the bat at eye level,knees bent, get down to meet the ball,

preparing to give yourself upfor the common good.

Your bat is an extension of your body,the idea being to catch the ball

with all you have.Someone is depending on you

to move him along, a vulnerable friend,the kind of guy who wonders in sweat

WHAT AM I DOING HERE.A limbo of wind comes off the mound,

nothing but a tiny marblesmall enough for a navel.

Squared, you have given yourself away,each rotation of the ball saying

NO PLACE TO HIDENO PLACE

NOO

You can’t think about it,about popping it up.

Suddenly it’s on the ground he’s safe,you’re out, he’s in scoring position,

you’re on the bench, you’ve left it upto the next guy, the reader.