the batter's box

thanks for listening
some years later
when i played second base
and caught a line drive with my backhand turned
to the pitcher's mound
and later threw a runner out at home;
it was a fetish!
a gloved defense against loss and despair
and you were there
with a wide mouth,
a question forming on the first base line:
would he make it to the pros?
like virtually all the girls
with two eye-holes and a soft heart
standing guard over my fate,
i didn't try to stave off your advances
while in the batter's box
taking practice swings at your curved breasts;
i saw your speeding vagina
coming inside high and tight
and the ump, once again, making the hand signal
for a strike, too flagrantly, i felt,
and i fantasized about pitching a no-hitter
in Yankee Stadium
when your sat on my face,
between innings,
as though i were the team bench.