Author's note: This poem is written to improve my score in Figurative language and it is from the point of view of a catcher in baseball.
As I squat behind the plate,
I see the leather sphere hurdling towards me as fast as a bullet.
As it sprints toward me, I prepare to catch it.
A split-second before I enclose it in my mitt,
I hear a crack as loud as a train horn.
Next thing I know, I am watching the ball
Scream through the air.
I look left and see the bull on third base
Speeding to home plate like a racecar.
He is in a race with the baseball to get to the plate first.
I snag it out of the air
Just as I get snowplowed to the ground.
When I stand back up,
I am still holding the key that just won the game.
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