poem of the day 06.07.11

ballgame with my old man

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

two arthritic knees
and our bad shoulders are coming along

i hope that our team jersey wins

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

my allegiances stitched on hats and shirts
thwarting a stadium full of angry fans

we aren’t on our home turf

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

we have our wives with us
and they don’t mind coming along

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

it’s memorial day
in the united states

and i’m thinking that it’s
been a while since my old man and i
saw a ballgame together

we’re drinking cheap beer
in a ballpark steakhouse
taking photos as country songs are piped in

remembering what it was like
when he took my brother and i
to games when we were children

my brother and i
are hot dogs and cokes
in the memory of the humid pittsburgh sun

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

we’ve already been
to the top of the empire state building
and all over manhattan

we went to katz’s for
corned beef sandwiches

i still have an okay job
but my old man paid

still i can buy him
beer and dinner
italian food in brooklyn
whenever i want

i can get him all of the hot dogs
and cokes that he needs

i don’t know if that matters

he won’t even take the lemonade
that comes in a souvenir cup

i’m going to the ballgame with my old man

we’re sitting in the nosebleed seats
like in the old days
checking out scoreboard america
and watching all of those expensive ants
shag fly balls out in center field

trying to figure out who’s who
with our aging eyes

as military bands play at home plate
and people file into their seats
with plastic cups of beer
and cheese covered nachos

everyone looks happy
and for a change, i don’t care

because i’m at the ballgame with my old man

and damn if i don’t feel
like a kid again.