pitcher as pedagogue

if only i'd known what life would throw
i would have stood still in that box
feet planted, head still, anticipating the schoolyard four seamer

if only i'd know that seams imprinted
could never compare to a ruptured heart
hands back, bat still, short stride

if only i'd known life that life could throw
exploding sliders, cutters in on my hands, shit you can't explain
i'd have taken my cuts, legged a few out, counted the r.b.i.

out of fear i recoiled from the pedagogue
terrified of failure, timid towards pain
backed out of the box, dropped the bat, walked away

but i no longer have a choice
feet planted, bat still, short stride
i have to take my cuts

fear and failure be damned.
i'm going to take my cuts.