The games could get heated
and parents of naturally athletic boys,
the Little League All-Stars,
cliqued together in the stands,
the rest of us sheepishly sitting away
hoping our kid wouldn’t be the one
to make the last out, lose the game.
One night the mom of the best player
lost her mind,
started yelling
at the kids on our team
who were striking out,
dropping balls.
At first, we didn’t get it,
that her calls of “rag arm”
and “you can’t hit a barn door”
were aimed at her son’s own teammates,
then silently
we second-tier moms
got up,
took seats surrounding her
and enforced the code of conduct.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME