Foul Territory

The grass is long, the field is bare,

But memory cuts a clean white line.

That chalk dust settles everywhere,

A boundary that felt so fine.

We stood there, stupid, thirteen years,

With nothing but the night and nerve.

The air thick with unspoken fears,

A lesson that we didn't serve.

That thin white mark, a sudden shame,

Where awkwardness could hide no more.

It whispered out my clumsy name,

Right past the dugout door.