When I was in high school, my friends and I would ride
The slow train from the suburbs, just to sit in
The bleachers at Wrigley Field all day long,
Watching a doubleheader while Ronnie Woo screamed
His way through every inning
Sandberg, Woo. Dawson, Woo. Maddux, Woo.

Years later, my ex-wife would meet me at the park,
Bringing a book, looking up occasionally
Heading home after Harry Cary got up to sing
Take Me Out to the Ballgame in his imitation of days
Gone by. Jose Viz-ca-i-no. Backwards.

Nowadays, I fly up to Chicago once a year with my son
To sit in my brother’s season ticket seats, peering
Around beer vendors that I wish were midgets, thinking
Of Bill Veeck, as Kerry Wood takes the mound
Walks two batters and then… strikes out the side.

Last spring, I met a woman who grew up in Philly
Watching baseball games with her dad, never
Leaving until the last inning. She reads box scores.
I wonder what it would be like to take her to
Wrigley Field and sit in the bleachers again.
Castro, Woo. Barney, Woo. Pitching Woo.