Rain delay,
life on hold,
pleasure postponed,
I’m sitting in the stands,
under an umbrella,
wondering if the game will be called.
The tarp blankets the infield,
and I wonder what to do with myself.
Get a hot dog,
find my soul,
maybe a beer, too,
plan my retirement,
go for a walk on stadium level,
contemplate the meaning of life.
Maybe if the rain’s not too bad,
ballplayers could wear those
little umbrellas attached to their caps.
But it’s important not to be impatient,
to just sit back and take in the view,
to see the beauty of it and
realize how lucky I am to enjoy
the quiet of this afternoon with the
pitter-pattering of the rain all around me.
THE POETRY OF THE GAME