Most Valuable Player

If I had a trophy

I’d put it on the middle shelf

of my bookcase. I’d dust

it every day

and polish it once a week.

It would have a statue of a woman

holding a bat, her golden arm

cocked up a little

waiting for the pitch.

When my friends came over

I’d stand next to the bookcase casual-like

till they said, “Is that a trophy?”

I’d read the inscription every morning.

I’d ask someone to take my picture

with my trophy.  

My trophy would say

“Softball Player” on the bottom,

and everyone would know

that in summer I tie on my cleats

run onto the field,

slapping high fives.

They’d know I take third base,

put my glove to the dry dirt,

scatter dust in the air.

They’d hear the fans shout,

“Hey, some catch!”

when the white ball comes slamming

into my glove,

and, “Watch out, she’ll steal home,”

as my cleats dig and dig.

They’d feel the weight of the little statue

And think, “I bet she’s going out

With her team tonight,”

“I bet she could teach me how to throw,”

“I bet she plays softball,”

and I do,

I do.