Hamstringed

Somewhere between rounding third

And sliding into home

I’m hamstringed

I stop

I fall

I decide

I’ll not be tagged

There in the middle-ground

Could I crawl back and recover?

Counting on my brother’s full count

His double

Sweet time

His home run hit

Sweet savior

Instead I stand again

A fool, for certain

A rocket gone awry, we’ll see

But to the delight of the crowd

I seek home