there were times
when he swung
I was sure
he’d hit me
other times
I wished for
such contact
he swung for
the fences
and dropped that
hot wood like
a blacksmith’s
hot horseshoe
my hands scorched
when I picked
up his bat
why couldn’t I
be the one
who hit that
This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io
