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.
