The FP is for Fenway Park; I love the numbers
because it opened in 1912, the mini-park pictured
on the plate is so small you have to be parked
in back of my car to see its ruddy bricked-in windows,
lit up like the real place for a night game, through
yellow panes, fans in the bleachers listen, watch for
the hot-shot-off the bat, as the pitcher delivers
a ninety-seven mile an hour fastball, belt high that
line-drives flying fair into the outfield down the
third-base-line, ricochets off the Green monster
and kicks out away from the left-fielder who runs,
grabs the ball from lolling around; hurls it home
to get the Yankee out.