bandinetto
three years between teenagers is an unnegotiable chasm
so when an older bandi bullied up to our homemade plate
interrupting our neighborhood pick-up game
blinks couldn’t refuse his demand for a pitch
bandi swung his popeye arms and
bashed our softball over the fence and
into mr. marrasorro’s dreaded backyard
where anyone would risk getting kicked in the ass
after his caged hunting hounds would surely
bark and cause a stir alerting all to a trespasser
alas, the game was over and bandi mocked us
bony teens and tweens as he walked off
we all muttered our mantra under our breath
promising to “piss on his grave
piss on the sonuvabitch’s grave”
this became routine all summer
whenever he passed by
mr. marrasorro acquired
quite a collection of balls
the following year
i turned thirteen
and tried out for little league
i surprisingly made the team
as their premier bench-warmer
ironically it was the same team
where bandi shined as the star player
i didn’t get much action
but during one particular game
after we had a comfortable seven-run lead
i smacked a double and slid into second base
catching an older player’s ankle
as i stood and dusted myself off
he knocked me back to the dirt
but before i could react
bandi immediately sprung from the dugout
hellbent for vengeance
to defend a teammate
and fattened the rival player’s lip
amazed and impressed
i exchanged smiles with him
as both teams skirmished
a few years after graduation a drunk bandi
fell out of a public works excavator
and broke his neck
not far from our old neighborhood park
i never did defile that grassy plot
© Dan Sicoli
Dan Sicoli, of Niagara Falls, NY, is the author of two poetry chapbooks from Pudding House Publications, Pagan Supper and the allegories. Recent work has appeared in I-70 Review, Evening Street Review, Hobo Camp Review, Home Planet News, Misfits, Ranger, and Rye Whiskey Review. He’s also an editor with Slipstream. www.pw.org/directory/writers/dan_sicoli
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