In the cool of the evening,
couples walk hand in hand
up Broadway and in Central Park,
the girls in their summer dresses,
the boys in their khaki shorts.
It is noted that the headpiece of choice
seems to be a dark blue cap with “N” and “Y”
crossed above the brim.
We are in Yankee Territory, sports fans,
where it would appear that
seventy per cent of the populace
don caps featuring the familiar logo.
I, too, walk the city streets, with
my Mets cap perched at a rakish angle,
well aware of the sneering stares I’m collecting.
You don’t belong here, they seem to say.
I slink back home to Brooklyn,
taking a last look at the Manhattan skyline,
thinking I see the iconic buildings
all dressed in perfect pinstripes.