My son and I speak
the coded language of baseball.
“They should wait ’til next year.”
“They have no pitching.”
“They should bring up their entire Triple A team.”
– all general observations that cover like a tarp
the lack of real pitch and catch between us.
Apparently, something there is
that doesn’t like an (outfield) wall
as we toss soft balls to each other
in ritualistic pregame warmups.
We observe the rules,
the polite formalities of the game,
but hide our true feelings,
much like the catcher who shields
his signals from the opposing team.
This late in the season,
sitting in opposite dugouts,
it’s hard to accept
we are not playing on the same side.