The cleaners swept through the stands
Making quick disappearance of empty beer cans,
Peanut shells and hot dog wrappers:
The crowd had disembarked the stadium.
Citi Field was lonely, emptied of its purpose, hosting the
Second home game of the season, jubilant fans
Celebrating their players who went on
To win that game: families and friends assembled
To laud each other, their teams and the
Waning pandemic that had stalled life
Across the entire planet.
And one family had brought their little boy
To his first game – with Grandpa – a constant
Fan, there to launch his first grandson into
The fan club for a lifetime of play and entertainment.
The wide-eyed little one took it all in.
Who knows what he will remember?
Perhaps his small body embraced on
Grandpa’s lap, his grandpa’s
Stream of commentary so very loud –
And the softness of his shoulder, a perfect
pillow when he fell asleep
Carried out by his Dad after the Mets’ victory
Leaving one tiny sneaker behind as a
trophy for the empty stadium –
Someone very important had visited
And left his mark behind
THE POETRY OF THE GAME