I've played the field enough to know what follows

He takes back the ring. Out of bounds but not 

off limits, not unlike childhood, the wiffle ball

sometimes stuck in the tree. In bed, after martinis,

the fight that escalated from fingernails to headboard,

left hook, bodyslam, peeled plaster, half-cocked:

he's no squire on bend knee with a jewel lodged

in a velvet pillow. He's half made, half unmade, 

a man in bed, propped on one arm, face of a boy

who chips it high and takes off without looking

to see where it goes. I've played the field enough

to know what follows a pitch that breaks

when it crosses the plate. A high swing. Some wind.

A batter on deck and one in the hole. Do over, he says,

this ain't the big leagues, no foul, no keeps.

 

[Teresa Leo, 'Engagement Sonnet', from The Halo Rule]