A Day at Shea           

The planes were soaring overhead.
Around me vendors sold their goods:
the franks, the pretzels, pizza, beer.
No glass was used, just paper cups.
A young girl sold vanilla pops.
My nose said onions were nearby.
Attentive eyes stared straight ahead.
With bases loaded, two men out,
The cheers were loud; my eardrums ached.
The “wave” erupted through the stands.
“Hey, Mike, you’d better hit that ball.
We’ve gotta’ get a run. Today’s
the day for us to win.”  “Oh, damn.”
He missed the ball. The inning’s done.
The fans did not give up, not old,
or young, not white, or black or brown,
not turbaned head, not immigrant
or native born. In this they stood
as one. An equalizing force,
this game of balls and bats and runs.
          
by Candyce Nathanson-Goldstein

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