Heaven in Left
"Come to the park with me."
It's like a refrain from the bad
Song stuck in my brother's head, and finally
He relents if only to shut me the hell up.
"Fine," he says, "but only for an hour."
We ride our bikes to the park and I carry the bag.
Seven balls. Two gloves. One bat that's too short
For both of us now. He pitches first.
"Don't throw so high!"
"Don't swing like a girl."
"I'm not swinging like a girl!"
Swing.
"Don't throw so low!"
The next pitch darts at my head.
An hour later, we have lost four of the seven balls and
Two of the others landed in a mud puddle in left field.
My brother is bored and I am not hitting the ball well.
"I'm going home," he says.
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