I’ve been watching the lights shine from the stadium.
Most of it looks safe.
It’s the place next door that looks menacing:
It’s got a beast, a bam and boom, after all.
But in the first place, there’s hope.
Men wear white and carry sticks.
It’s only to keep them safe at home.
After enough heartache, they have no reason to play.
Their supporters fear more agony.
Some will stop at that:
Others will knock the dust off their feet and walk in this place.
Just so they can see it.
The time will be here soon, for those men in white.
The sun will sparkle on their helmets.
They will stretch themselves.
They will swing and throw and toss.
And they will learn to wait.
If for only this: a pitch to hit.
by 