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poem: When I Stepped Up To The Plate

When I Stepped Up To The Plate
(or I know nothing about baseball and love)



I pushed you and you pushed back
until I found myself on the floor
packing my things into boxes while

others were lined up to be taken down
the elevator, crowded into vehicles, then
separated, piled high in a storage locker

before I left you kissed me up against the door.

For the months leading up to this third strike
and "you're outta there!" it was you + me, we
were running bases, sliding home every night

after I was gone, you called me back
in - oh, I was ready to play rain or
shine and that night in the park

on my knees in the snow
in a dugout in overtime

You said, "good girl," and other trash
talk with your brushback pitch - action
put on replay after the game was done -

I know we both played hard but who won.



- adp, 13 December 2016 @ 1:48pm



~~~
This is my Week 3 therealljidol entry for the topic: Brushback Pitch.