“Oh my God, are you okay?”
They see my eye, they gasp and say
I pause and choose how I’ll explain the bruise

“I caught a baseball… with my face,”
I say with a strategic pace
Then they all laugh and tension is diffused

Or I’ll shrug, I’ll say “I’m fine,”
When clearly their concern’s benign
But I can’t take the “aw”s and pity hugs

Their jaws drop, their minds unsure
Of what to say, so I assure
With a smirk, “It’s fine, I’m taking drugs”

“Prince Fielder hit me,” I might try
And technically it’s not a lie
(a football-player-sized baseball player)

Though the ball was a foul hit
They always ask, “Did you catch it?!”
Treat me like some sort of dragon slayer

“Did he say sorry at the end?”
“Was it onscreen?” they ask my friend
I hope to God it wasn’t on TV

Because me staring like a freak
As it comes flying towards my cheek
Is not what I want everyone to see

“You should see the other guy,”
I grin, and if they ask why,
I tell them it happened in a brawl

But even if they think I fought
(which I can tell you, they do not)
The other guy’s a major league baseball

It was red, then black and blue
(at one point it was yellow too)
Now small marks remain of all the gory

It hurt a bit, but I’m alright
The bark was much worse than the bite
And this bark gave me one hell of a story