In college
I wore tools of ignorance
squatting behind home plate
Like a protective father
umpire’s hand
resting on my shoulder
Between pitches
rubbed gritty dirt
Sweat soaked
mask slid
on dust clogged
pores
fingernails
lost to foul tips
Shift and block .
In early Spring
your hand sprouts bruises
and
pop ups blend
into sky
as eternal
as cleats clattering
on a concrete
floor.
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