Poem: Heater, hot dogs, and baseball

I remember that time I was playing baseball,

someone threw me a fastball, I hit a bomb.

A man called the hit weak,

he was up to bat and I gave him my heat,

and in my head I told him,

go take a seat.

I felt sweat run down my neck.

Take a breath of the fresh air,

You can smell the hot dogs cooking

on a stand.

I turned to my left and I could see

doing a handstand.

I turned to my left and I noticed

someone selling some contraband

with some cash in the other guy’s hand.

My first baseball game in Rancho Cienega.