I learned to throw the curveball
from my father.
Not the slow, sweet looping pitch
schoolboys throw for fun,
but the vicious, spinning vortex
whipped in with bad intent
towards the batter’s head;
a pitch that makes them sweat
as they stand in the box, alone,
back foot planted in pride,
front foot dancing and unsure.
From my father I learned to throw
the curveball past people playing