A Wild Pitch

My attempt at a cleave poem a la national sport.

“A Wild Pitch”


The pitcher held the new baseball / As the batter walked up to the carefully cleaned home plate.
And his fingers felt the strong red stitches / The breeze began to blow.
He raised his arms in one swift movement / Sweat formed on his upper lip.
A runner raced from third base to home plate / While the catcher jumped up to grab the wild pitch.
The crowd cheered loudly / Because the ball flew to the back wall.
A run was scored / The batter smiled for the game was over.

This is my first try to a cleave poem.