“Sign for My Father, Who Stressed the Bunt,” by David Bottoms

There’s no argument that the home run is popular, especially in today’s game.  Babe Ruth didn’t become a legend by bunting, after all.  That doesn’t mean the bunt isn’t important.  If you look at it the right way, a well-executed bunt can be just as awe-inspiring, if not more so, as a knock over the outfield fence.

The piece was published in 1995 in Armored Hearts: Selected and New Poems.


On the rough diamond,
the hand-cut field below the dog lot and barn,
we rehearsed the strict technique
of bunting. I watched from the infield,
the mound, the backstop
as your left hand climbed the bat, your legs
and shoulders squared toward the pitcher.
You could drop it like a seed
down either base line. I admired your style,
but not enough to take my eyes off the bank
that served as our center-field fence.

Years passed, three leagues of organized ball,
no few lives. I could homer
into the left-field lot of Carmichael Motors,
and still you stressed the same technique,
the crouch and spring, the lead arm absorbing
just enough impact. That whole tiresome pitch
about basics never changing,
and I never learned what you were laying down.

Like a hand brushed across the bill of a cap,
let this be the sign
I’m getting a grip on the sacrifice.

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