Sweat rolling off my nose like a leaky faucet.
Sun beating down on the back of my bland shirt.
The soft gravel beneath my cleats.
The lefty pulls up to the box with a special swagger.
His blue oakleys reflect the fear in my eyes from a far.

The first time up he smacked it to me
the second time,
we’ll see.
He eyes the infield like a swat team finding their point of entry.
It opened between first and second
I start moving to it before the hit, anticipating the hit.

The crack of the bat is like a whip.
No time to think, only time to react.
I dive for the bouncing ball like a wide receiver launching to catch the ball
the gravel claws at my skin.
I get it,
flip to first,
“You’re out!”