Swing Low
I stepped up to the plate, ready to hit it out of the park. Foul balls bouncing back, back to places unintended. I know he sees the way I slide, the way I swing low. I can’t reach my downfall, reaching over the fence - he’s knocked it out of the park, he’s rounding the bases, my body bared and raw with emotion. The seventh inning stretch, stretching out my insides with his wooden bat, he’s swung low, it’s a bunt. I run to catch it, but it’s too late. He’s on first again, watching my every move. Left-handed pitch, you weren’t expecting, I’m a switch hitter, a switch pitcher. I swing low, low enough to know you aren’t the only one that can hit it out of sight, launching everything into confusion.
I’ll win at all costs, I’ll play dirty. I’ll swing low.
