Little League

Behind St. Mark's
Lutheran church
on the neglected diamond
we engaged in our
post-practice scrimmage.

Elliot was on the mound-
my sometimes friend
more often foe-
who had beaned me twice that game,
undeterred I stepped to the plate again.

Batting always terrified me
and I never enjoyed baseball at all
but my dad wanted me to play
and I had trouble fitting in
so I tried, I tried, despite the fear.

My third at-bat
two balls, two strikes
Elliot wound up and pitched
the ball hurtled toward me
and struck my back.

I crumpled, crying
something inside me snapped
and rage, like a tidal wave
swept me up and toward the mound
the bat gripped tight and threatening.

As I charged toward Elliot
determined to pummel him
for his deliberating beanings
I felt more monster than man
but, strides away, our coach caught me in a flying tackle.

Dejected, tear-stained, and ashamed I returned to the dugout.

I never played the game again.