Whiffleballs

Trapped between chin and Adam’s Apple
a whiffleball 
declines my head as if in thought.

Left hand impresses  
whiffleball two to right armpit,
and right hand likewise left.

Between trembling thighs
whiffleball four
induces a simian semi-squat;

five in the vise of my knees;
a last in the hug of my balls.
Now you.

You at the door,
pigeon-toed, stooped
bowed head

headbutting my doorbell
stepping back. 
Silence. Heavy hiatus.

Do I fling arms wide
and pull the door agape?
Do we then

collapse into one another 
and embrace to the resonant applause 
of bouncing whiffleballs?