poem for my 71st birthday

yes, I'm still here, doing about what I've always
done, although there are some moments of
hesitation
like I'll be at the plate and the big guy out
there will be about ready to fire one in
and I'll call time, step outside the batter's
box, knock some dirt off my cleats, look
around, there are sometimes blinding flashes of
light in my eyes
but I'll gather myself, shake it off, get back
in the box, feel the power returning, I
can't wait for the big guy's next pitch and it
comes in, a slider, bastard can't fool me,
I get the wood on it, it goes out of there,
way out of there and I trot the bases
as the young guys curse me under their
breath; too bad fellows, you see you
have to have a feel for it and as long as
it's there, you keep going, and when
you can't do it anymore, you'll still be
asking for one more turn at bat, just to
be there, even to swing and miss, it's the
doing that gets it done,
don't you understand this?

like this one here, it's probably only
a single or a short hopper to the
shortstop,
but I've had my swing
and I'll be back a few times
more,
the big guy doesn't have me
out of here
yet.