Oh, to be outside playing catch

Oh, the feel of fresh cut
grass on my bare feet,
tickling, itching, cool damp earth soothing.
Pollin tickling my nose,
Sneezing, breathing in the deep fresh
air, craning my neck to see all around,
So many sights and people to watch.

Oh, to be outside on this cool Spring day,
And not in here, this stuffy, cramped classroom,
with its faint smell of previous occupants.
Plants growing up the wall, tapping
at the window, begging to be let out,
jealously watching the trees outside
spread their branches leisurely,
stretching, thriving in the openness.

Daydreams taking me far away from
here, tittering laughter coming from
the corner, I missed the joke, mind elsewhere.
Watching the game, arm flexing unconsciously as if to
catch the ball, but can't reach through the glass and concrete.
Ball soars through the air, fumbling hands
trying to catch it.
Bounce, and miss, and grab, and arm drawn back
like a sling, forward in motion,
imagining I hear the ball whistling through the
air, but I just can't reach it.
Watch it descend in slow motion,
down...
            down....
                         down......

MISS!
If that were me, I would have caught
the ball.
Heart thumping,
running backwards,
out of breath,
running...
             running...
head tilted at an awkward angle,
everything riding on this,
just one chance...

SMACK!
Into my hand,
a red mark forming on my palm,
staring at it in disbelief,
I caught the ball!

But of course,
That is my imagination talking.
Outside beckons to me, yet here I
sit at a wooden table,
head craning to see out the window,
until people start giving me funny looks,
and I wonder if I missed anything important.

And the ball, the ball has rolled
behind a bush, and the people have all
disperesed.
Quad empty now.
Game Over.