In the gift shop at Safeco Field
Between innings.  In search of the past
Forty-eight years since the Pilots skipped town
The season Jim Bouton passed

Puzzled clerks scratched their chins
When I asked if they carried the hat
“Whoa that’s old school,” a young one said
But at least he knew, and I give him that.

Together we rummaged and found it
Blue and gold with a sailor’s crest
Seattle roared, it fit just right and
I thought of the man I never met

Putting emotions to the daily grind
In the clubhouse.  On the field
Ball Four is the best book about baseball
Ever.  You can argue that with me.

Tommy Davis, Gene Bra-bender
Rock and roll, country, and speed
Sal the Barber.  Beaver shooting
Forever etched in my memory

Laughter turns on the other side
When we wonder if we’re good enough
Or if the façade will fall away
As we age.  As we love.  What we love.

The next day, I wore my Pilots Cap
On a hike to Hurricane Ridge
The wind blew hard, wildflowers bloomed
At the top, there was a group of kids

Gathered around a black tailed deer
Waiting patiently without a sound
Still.  Looking for the signs to change
Like a pitcher standing on the mound