High kick then swinging
his arm like a sledgehammer,

he smashed every one
of them. Not the windows

but the balls sliding
down the panes, drooping

away from their dreams
of becoming home runs.

Will the boy's dreams
of one day becoming a pitcher

be smashed like that?
Why ask

if there is no answer in sight?
Ask the blind boy

what is the color
of the snow in his hands.

His answer will be pure
white, purer than any baseball

in any other boy's dreams.
Ask him and you will see.

-- John Lee Clark

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