Ninth Inning

once

my sister and i shared a bedroom;

my brother got the extra pork chop.

butts on wooden bleachers at his little league games,

we practiced boredom.

some feel nostalgia for a woman’s place on the sidelines,

her view of manly contests obscured by the swollen head of adam’s god,

but uncowed sisters are stealth divinities.   

nervous men spin to bluster, because their existence

proves what we are capable of.