Hero

The crack of a bat sets us free,
brings us home.
At the bottom of the ninth
we hold our breath,
praying that things will be made right.
Barry Bonds steps up to the plate-
we screech, then wait,
silently hoping for a miracle.

The bat becomes a dead weight in his hands.
His fingers tighten and unclench,
sweat blooming on his brow.
An entire city sits riveted,
seeing only an idol in its midst.

Bat makes contact with ball-
a solid, decisive blow.
Children lean forward eagerly,
little hands in baseball gloves outstretched.
The ball soars over our heads,
higher than the neon signs advertising Budweiser and Coke.
The crowd is rising to its feet,
hands shielding eyes from the sun.

An acute  splash!  as the ball
plunges into the bay below,
then a moment of silence
followed by whooping and howling,
music and dancing lights,
raucous stomping and riotous applause.
Our city is united at last,
drunk on its own joy
brought home by a hero.