Popcorn boxes scattered
empty plastic small
team hats once
spilling over with
ice cream sundaes
empty drink cups
crushed on the
stadium floor between
the benches or
the bright orange
seats and ants
climbing across French
fries and ketchup
a paper tray
left precariously on
the rail by
the net where
the players swing
their bats using
one or two
hands to warm
up hoping to
get a chance
to split the
bat or steal
a base or
maybe just to
hit and run.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME