The dugouts are dank as dungeons
having tortured the last player
over a pop-up with bases loaded
and two outs.
The baselines faded
where once, chevrons of white
rode crisp up a uniform of green.
The chainlink backstop,
just that,
but for the last umpire
crucified on its grid.
All the while
the same disinterested clouds
lug themselves
across the universe.