It’s been 65 plus years since
my beloved Brooklyn Dodgers
left my borough, taking my heart,
surely, too long a time to grieve,
but I still hold a sentimental soft spot
for my “Bums,” a spot that swelled
in nostalgia when I saw an old man
walking on the avenue with a cane
sporting the white “B” and blue cap
of my all-time favorite team.
I can still name all the players,
their positions and numbers,
as I vividly recall the confines of
Ebbets Field on Bedford Avenue.
The Duke, Gil and Pee Wee
stand in the batter’s box of my memory.
Robinson is the speed I wish I had now.
Furillo with his strong right arm,
I’ll gladly take that, too.
So, thank you old man with a cane;
thank you for the powerful journey back
to the field of my childhood dreams.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME