rough wool jersey
shirt tail flapping
heading to right field
third grade scout den
wins at home
under the buzzing lights
deep in right field
he tries his first chaw
back pocket bulging
stretching a triple
cut off man gets me
between third and home
first time on metal cleats
clattering on dugout concrete
feeling very grown up
not dug in at home plate
facing submarine fast baller
hear he hits batters hard in the ribs
spring drills
wishing for a water break
shagging fly balls
back window of team bus
going away from another loss
flipping off the drivers following
pre game meeting
watch their short stop
he thinks he’s Ty Cobb
standing on the mound
facing my first batter
no one else to pitch
no jump on the fly ball
it rolls to a stop
in the outfield rough
our one good hitter
takes it high and inside
their pitcher smirks and spits
the coach reads the line up
my name absent
on his dirty paper lunch napkin
opponents do jumping jacks
spread across the infield
chanting about our recent whoppings
sharp line drive
jolts me too late
ball lost in blackberries
nine innings in
nothing hit my way
no need to shower
high pop up
lost in the sun
plops at my feet
dugout floor
awash in candy wrappers and sunflower shells
heading for the bat rack
putting on game uniform
running to infield
not in line up
flat footed in right field
glove at my face
chewing on a rawhide string
subs and back-ups
at the end of the dugout bench
waiting for next year
fouled off
behind the backstop
thunks into a front windshield
long afternoon in right field
waiting for a fly ball
waiting for a fly ball
after a long rain delay
we take the field
soaked long socks sunk to my ankles
dug in at the plate
a looping curve ball
gone fishing
waiting for the team bus
we look for dropped dimes and quarters
under the home team bleachers
ready for anything
he throws me a wicked slider
the bottom falls out
choosing up sides
it’s a foregone conclusion
who gets picked last
the neighbor up the street
always played center field
to protect his front windows
pitcher has crazy spin
batter breaks bat on it
that’s a stinger
hard grounder off the asphalt street
third baseman overthrows
into Duncan’s hedge
crack of bat
over his head
he turns to run
two big whiffs
foul ball into Eastburn’s garage
everyone laughing hard
