A Swing and a Miss (sonnet)

I'm up to bat, the bottom of the ninth,
Our team has now fallen so far behind.
I tap my shoes, and step up to the line,
Aware the responsibility's mine.
I wait for the pitch, swing with all my might,
And get nothing but a whiff of hot air.
I regroup, regrip, and retake my stance,
Stare down the pitcher with an icy glare,
Waiting for a fast ball; give me a chance. 
I look to the outfield and choose my spot,
Ready my bat for the oncoming ball,
Hoping for something hittable; it's not,
It's a curve, and I can't connect at all.
Just when I thought I knew what life's about,
A swing and a miss, and I've just struck out.