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18
Church Softball
RYAN HARPER
Those nights it was all right
to be in league with Presbyterians,
Dad said. We always went along
because the ball fields had
concessions (every Christian liked hot dogs,
Dad said). With ecumenical relish
green upon my lips, I skipped
mitt-first and tripping willfully
behind the dugouts with the sons
of half-correct sectarian shortstops
and way-out left fielders
whom Dad and the deacons would beat that night.
Far behind the fence in foul ground,
we rolled, ran up the pile
of extra infield dirt, around
the backstop, through pick-up
games with tennis balls
and broomsticks—Canseco versus
A-Rod versus Clemens (not yet
at the age of accountability,
these names we injected
THE UNDER REVIEW
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