This poem will be only
25% of its intended length,
reflecting the state’s edict
that the ballpark at Citi Field
will be open at only 25% of its capacity.
(I don’t write long poems anyway.)
I will attend only one quarter of the game,
eat a fourth of a hot dog,
and drink 4 ounces of my
16-ounce cup of beer.
Then, under a quarter moon,
I will watch my beloved Mets play,
hoping they give no quarter
to the hated opposition.
When will my stadium be whole again,
not to be sectioned by quarters?
I can’t wait for the day when Citi Field
will be at standing room only,
and we will once more hear
the full-throated roar of fans in the stands.
Ballplayers need to be appreciated
and applauded one hundred percent.