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In college he had left behind the geek of former years of science and high math, instead he studied theatre's technique, deciding to pursue an actor's path. Like sonnets, English plays have lost appeal, the classics aren't the mainstream that they were, for stage his booming vocals were ideal, but lack of work continued to deter. Performing in an outdoor Shakespeare sketch, and showing wit while passioned talent hides, he entertains to let his moxie stretch, and audiences love his trite asides. Performing in these Renaissance bazaars fulfills the urge, transcending acting scars. 
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I fidget in the batter's box and wait.
Matt Johnson, number twelve, is next to bat, the pitch will soon be coming to the plate. The score is tied, each team has tallied eight, the pitcher seems a little scared of Matt. I fidget in the batter's box and wait. The catcher stands to hold a pitch debate, but soon adjusts his mask and ends the chat. the pitch will soon be coming to the plate. I lift my maple bat, anticipate the pitch I want and will be swinging at. I fidget in the batter's box and wait. I take a practice swing to ease my state and with the pine tar rag I gently pat. I fidget in the batter's box and wait; the pitch will soon be coming to the plate. 
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AuthorJack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana. All poetry and photos are copyrighted © 2007-2018 by Jack Huber, all rights reserved. Archives
October 2018
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