Second Stringers in the Dugout

by May 8, 2010 0 comments

Too cold for cheeks to sit on bleachers, so
the baseball dugout was our Confessional booth
—we worked things out, but there was nothing to confess
just bored bones

but

couplings were hard to come by — the
pickings were as thin as a small intestine — she
slid close to my coat, “do
xxxyou want to try it again?”

I cupped her left breast with
xxxmy right hand, and said,
“baby, we can try it again.”

We blew grey exhaust into
xxxeach other’s throats.

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