The bullpens disappeared
In the offseason
Taken from the fans
And hidden underneath
The bleachers of Wrigley Field
Where deals are sealed
And barons reclaim
The wave – money changing hands,
Adding value to the franchise and
The killing of the filibuster
Brown ivy on the wall, withered
Wiping the canvas clean
Leaving those too young to know
Without a compass

I think of old WGN
Black and white static
Late night Jimmy Stewart,
Mr. Smith and the
Slaying of the Rains,
Following the money
While losing his innocence
Like gourmet popcorn
And flagship stores rising
From the ashes of the
Old Wrigleyville, in sync with
The parting of the classes
Right field sucks, left field sucks
City boy, country girl
Rich man, poor man.

It was a joyride for the ages
While it lasted. The Cubs
Kicked the curse, while we were
Flattened by the aftermath,
Winning after losing after winning
And what that means to our identity
I’m getting lost in nostalgia for
Dollar fifty bleacher seats
Rodney Scott, Pete LaCock
The running of the goat
And the days of negotiation
Because the sun shines on us all
No matter where you sit
Or how much you pay to sit there