My Ball
By Max A
[not published yet]
When I gaze at it, my ball is a time machine
bringing me visions of good times.
Even through dirt stains as big as boulders
and scratches as large as a lion’s.
I can still remember all the times that I was dominant.
The times I got five of them
Five of the wickets.
It was the end of the game.
Everything was on the line.
The last over.
My last chance to shine.
I strode towards the batter
The only thing stopping me.
‘Yeeeaaaaahhh’ A cheer rang out from the crowd
We had won.
I still remember the sound of plastic on willow.
The sound that made my object special
It may seem normal to everyone else,
but it is special to me.