When Baseball Walked Out on Me

The summer of 1994 ended in strike

Ballparks shuttered, bats silent, gloves abandoned

And my little baseball-driven heart shattered.

How could anyone cancel that late-summer vibe

Of sun and shade and hot dogs and little kids

Running around and pitchers staring down

The plate and batters not blinking? To my mind,

It was unfathomable. And then it happened.

I did not experience this as a failure

Of business. Instead, it felt like the universe

Had packed up its silvery moons, and its cans

Of ice-cold Coke, and six weeks of velvety

Evenings, and whisked them away — maybe to

A universe more deserving of late summer joy.

February, 2023