I am throwing hard again
clipping corners, shaving
letters, dusting off
the heavy sticker crowding clean-up
clean down to his smelly socks -
& when my right spike hits
the ground he's had his look
already & gets
hollow in the belly -
in my meanest daydream I let fly
a sweet stresm of spit, my catcher
pops his mitt
& grins
& calls me baby.
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