Sidelines

You've been here before.
The softball diamond at night.
As you bunch up and shiver,
I lean in close to hear your voice,
and stare into your stoned and tired
                                                    beautiful red eyes.

I tell you about when I was a kid.
I once ruined a three-run triple by trying to make it a grand slam,
barreling past the third-base coach.
As I got older my parents made me choose
one toy animal a month to throw away.

Dear Diary, I love you
for listening to me.
Still no matter how opaque I try to make
myself feel, I'm transparent to you.
You're weary through and through.

Falling in love is a hobby of mine
like coin-collecting or tasting wine.
I polish the nickels and pennies, put them in their pouches,
take a sip, swish it around,
spit it out.