"I Have Been Given a Baseball ... "
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—
it's like being inside a pretty thought.
When the small, sodden crowd—
are they angels?—
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.