He’s never seen me,
but I’m here
in my crisp jersey,
spitting seeds
like Chipper.
I’d cracked one
past shortstop,
brought my friend
on third home.
And we won.
An online journal for small literature
He’s never seen me,
but I’m here
in my crisp jersey,
spitting seeds
like Chipper.
I’d cracked one
past shortstop,
brought my friend
on third home.
And we won.