First time I swung,
the ball hit my wrist,
but I hid my hurt
as I jogged to first.
The next time up,
I shied from the plate,
swatting the air
as balls barreled past.
I struck out then,
and again and again.
We didn’t always lose,
only that time we did,
and I pedaled home,
wind tearing my eyes,
thinking how badly
I had to pee.
