The Americana of it All

This isn't Missouri, 

No cool, soft grass

to massage your feet

while you round the bases

of the wiffle ball field. 


Here you dig in to the batters box

and immediately throw your hand up to the umpire to request time, 

step out and remove the evil sticker burr from your big toe. 


Children on bicycles do not come 

Sliding through the gravel, 

Tires throwing rocks and dust in an emotional 

Reaction to the chance to join a team, 

swing a bat, run the bases, feel the thrill of the grass, revel in the Americana of it all. 


People stare from inside the comfort of air conditioning, 

Questioning who in their right mind would exert all that effort 

in this stifling heat. 




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