Click here to listen to Alan Michael Parker read this poem. emblazoned with a map of the New York City subways, a novelty item complete with the violet No. 7 line, the train that clatters out to Shea. Too often in the '70s in the rain I saw the Mets lose there, among anonymous fans under orange and blue umbrellas or the occasional grocery bag. There's a woman I know now whose son has died: she should have the ball. In the stadium this evening the anonymous fans are hiding under orange and blue umbrellas or the occasional grocery bag, and I can see her son happy there, at last, fidgety in the bleachers. The lights light up the field perfectly in the buggy, humid night\u2014 it's like being inside a pretty thought. When the small, sodden crowd\u2014 are they angels?\u2014 begins to chant Let's Go Mets, someone changes the chant to Let's Go Home. What would she do with the ball? Whatever she wants, whatever we do with anything.