hard-ass bleachers

stranded in the bleachers
show is playing out

batter in batter’s box
pitcher winding up for the throw

get that ketchup off my hotdog
smother it with mustard
hold the onions, too

ball twists its way to the plate
batter swings and misses
umpire says, “Strike one!”

crowd is restless
I order another cold one
pitcher’s smug grin
reads catcher’s signal
and throws once more
umpire says, “Strike two!”

batter has had enough of this nonsense,
but does not say a word
steps out of the box
stretches bat over his head and behind him
steps back in

pitcher winds up
and throws
in comes a slider
batter nails the hell out of it
ball flies over the bleachers,
out of the stadium
on its way to who knows where

batter, still not talking rounds
the bases easily
driving in three runs

smiles at the catcher as he reaches home
sits back down in the dugout
pleased

I escape from hard-ass bleachers
last hit was worth waiting for
and would be a hard act to follow

I went home, too.