Beneath the stands, as they pound and hum,
In the bowels of the park and
Haunted halls,
There are dim lights and vendor smells of
Popcorn and cotton candy.
The sound the player’s cleats make as they
Click the concrete.
The white of their uniforms
Brightening the dullness –
The sound of the Anthem plays
Muffled in the distance. The crowd cheers
Ready to hear “Play Ball!”
On the concourse, people mill,
Purchasing food for America’s game.
Hot dogs and peanuts, a pretzel with salt;
Both teams take the field,
Inning one to start.
I come to greet you, say hello;
We sit, take in the aura that is
Baseball.
Men and women, children and seniors;
We talk Palmer and Brooks, Ripken and Robinson –
No-hitters of yore.
The scoreboard flashes an “H” for a hit.
This job in baseball
Behind the scenes working for a ballclub –
Anonymous in ways, yet a second home,
Offers joy in many ways,
Magic and a love –
A love of the game.