The fog suited my mood
that night at Turner Field.
I couldn’t even tell you if we won or
lost. All I remember is the haze,
which descended on me more quickly
than the purple clouds settled
on the Atlanta skyline.
Rapid-fire recall…

I.
You throw me an unexpected
curve ball, tell me I never was
a friend. Then, here come the fast balls,
your signature pitch – do this, do that,
better, faster, more. When it
looked as if I might hit it out
of the park once more…
a slider and a sinker.

II.
I swung wildly, to hit
whatever you threw my way,
and popped a foul ball. Caught. Out.
But not just out of the inning. No, you
had me thrown out of the game.
The ump gave no reason; there were
no appeals. Clearly, this wasn’t
any field of dreams.

III.
Two seasons came and went.
I played in the minors, missed
the challenge and joy of my work
when I played on your team, in your league.
But the other teams shut me out, citing
only a questionable past. So I sought
out advice from the pros, big hitters
and precision pitchers.

IV.
They told me to approach
the revered pitcher’s mound,
to tell you the truth was love made
me swing like a madman, love made
me think I could play like a man,
made me strike out one minute and 
race around the bases on a
grand-slam homer the next.

V.
You stepped off the mound
momentarily, kicking dust up
all the while. You heard me out,
said you were sorry for “some things,”
too. I suppose you couldn’t tell me
what things – had to protect
your reputation. Still, I was
glad for the conversation.

VI.
Bats out of hell descended,
flew with a fury. I had become
the white ball with red stitching,
the devil incarnate perverting
all that was good and holy.
There in the church, they
battered and pounded
and slammed me

X.
I haven’t swung at a pitch
for years now. I’ve only recently
regained any sense of balance, safety.
Ballparks mostly remind me of how
you cut me from your team, stood by
and watched them pummel me
with, yet again, not a reason
for their ban.

XI.
Sometimes I can watch the Braves,
stay with the game, remember that on this field
there really are rules. On this field, the ump
must report his ruling. Here, nobody
gets banned without a fair hearing.
But other times all I can see
are heavy clouds pressing
down upon me.