Poetry

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Number One Fan



There is no greater joy I know

than a child’s smile firsthand

Who caught their first baseball

thrown from their father’s hand



With eyes expanded to capacity

in anticipation they wait

This is the their World Series

With a hero they call great



The ball released and travels

With goose bumps like ice

The fielder holds up his glove

to catch it at any price



Spinning and rotating around

rawhide stitches hypnotize

As the moment draws so near

the hand tries to stabilize



The meteor drops in the glove

Forcing them to fall down

But trembling with excitement

They hold onto the crown



All the glory of the Big League

lacks memories this one can

As the father tossed first ball

Caught by his number one fan



Stephen Boan copyright
12/31/98

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