Third Strike

The sun was a heavy, orange weight,

and the umpire’s call felt like a final fate.

He didn't run, he didn't even try to fake

the sprint to first, just accepted the break.

He stood in the dust while the other side cheered,

becoming the person he'd always feared.

He wiped his wet palms on his jersey's white chest,

leaving two gray streaks where the shame could rest.