Out At The Plate Poem by John F. McCullagh

My teammates don’t know.
Surely none can suspect-
When I leave from the game
I don’t go home direct.

My lockers my closet,
And in it I hide
my alternate lifestyle
That some wear with pride

Reporters surround me
on the locker-room prowl
I patiently answer,
Dripping wet in a towel.

I’m a likeable guy
And I don’t duck the press
And they never suspect
How I look in a dress.

My lockers my closet,
And in it I hide
my alternate lifestyle
That some wear with pride.


I’ve been a star
in the City for years.
If fans knew what I’m hiding
Would I still hear the cheers?

Sure, you see me around
With a girl on my arm-
But if they want more
I back off in alarm.

It’s kind of ironic-
fans express their envy -
Could they live with the fear
of exposure like me?

My lockers my closet,
And in it I hide
my alternate lifestyle
That some wear with pride.