Stealing Second

Dirty jeans, bare feet,

scarred knees and elbows.

Smelling like horse and Juicy fruit.

Scrappy and unruly

Jerked, without mercy

from the narcissus blooming time

of childhood.

Into the cruel duty of moons,

blood and sacrifice.

Somewhere between second and third base,

I noticed the dark, smiling eyes

of Tommy Bryant.

The runner faltered,missed a step,

and slipped over the edge.

“You’re out”!

echoed across the diamond bright afternoon.

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