Salute to A Fan
               by

          Cheryl Boswell

        Under the harsh glare
        of the stadium lights,
        the hot humid air
        prickling my face,
        I watch my son
        taking his place
        on the pitcher's mound.
        A child scampers by,
        cotton candy held high
        like a banner of summer.
        First batter's up,
        an expectant hush
        falls over the crowd.
        Out of reflex I scan
        the top of the bleachers,
        looking for the familiar
        light-blue jumpsuit,
        the old baseball cap
        Dad would always wear
        to his grandson's games.
        Turning abruptly from the
        empty row of seats at the top,
        I see my son tipping his cap--
        an old salute before each game--
        to grandpa.