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Cleveland Indians v Chicago White Sox - Game One

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Stop Hitting, Abreu

José, it is time again to fly to your freedom.
| David Banks/Getty Images

Stop Hitting, Abreu

Thirty thousand faces, without pity
without understanding. No entienden.
No más. The body aches, without understanding.

Recall the rains, dampening despair
without shrouding.
Cienfuegos calls. Cruces beckons.
Mal Tiempo menaces.

And now, the pleasure, and pain. Most valuable
and most wanted. Yesterday, the man who stared down
monsters. Today,
crumpled in heap.

Bruises don’t scar skin, but they leave souls unsettled.

Skinny, gawky — but proper, con respeto.
Shy — but dutiful, destined. Protecting
a Daysi ever blooming.
Es el momento, the flower whispers in the wind.

Stand tall, stagger not.
Superheroes don’t swim in dirt.
Esta vida has been earned, pluck after pluck.

Pito, lay down your head, without pain, without fear.
Every man must one day, rest.

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