By Michael H. Brownstein
Sunlight littered left field with large swipes,
ivy covered walls christened green and darker green,
the outfield a perfect place for a picnic and the infield
a diamond of sweet grass and art.
We were two of the lucky ones,
able to enter the park late afternoon
after the crowds were gone, the garbage picked up.
Near the shadow of wall in center field
she put down her blanket and large picnic basket
and we ate large dogs on homemade buns,
the mustard burning, drank too many cans of beer,
and when we were silent, heard the cheers.
Later we touched the great walls,
raced around the bases, played pitcher
and catcher. She could throw the ball,
but me, mine never made it home.
| Copyright © 2020 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively. |
Sounds idyllic, Michael, much better than going to a stadium and actually having to sit through a game.
ReplyDeleteYep--it was rather nice. A bit romantic, too.
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