from The Baseball Key
To my child-eyes
The gear looked like knights’ armor.
The implicit danger of the aptly titled foul tip and
My nads covered by a reinforced plastic cup
Filled me with a godly fear of death: still I yearned for invincibility.
I liked the heat-too-hot for others. Sweating under the mask,
Spellbound by the illusion no one could see my eyes,
Taking, interpreting, and giving secret signals to the elect.
I had knee-pads like lobster-tails and my shins were painted blue.
The chest I wore let me take blows that would kill grown men.
My mitt was a shield. My right arm a whip-sling.
On the field I was a war-machine.