The hipster at Starbucks
looked over his computer
and stared at my Mets cap.
“They might make it this year,” he said,
which led to a discussion
of famous baseball collapses.
“The most brutal one
was Bobby Thompson’s home run,” I said.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
What? How could he not know?
He listened while I described
the ruination of my childhood
when Russ Hodges screamed
over the airwaves into my bedroom
“The Giants win the pennant!
The Giants win the pennant!”
For the moment I felt so terribly old,
like some prehistoric baseball dinosaur.
The hipster promised to google
the 1951 Dodger/Giants series.
The ghosts of my beloved bums –
Branca, Newcombe, Labine, et al
whispered their thanks to me
from across the span of years.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME