Empty Bases






Empty Bases

Gone is the crack of the bat
The roar of the crowd
The rounding of third
Collisions at home
The pause of the ump
The dust in the air
A fastball in the back
Pine tar
Stolen signs
Pick-off plays
Oh, how we long for…

The good old days

Gone is everything:
From missed tags to rosin bags
From outfield speed
To sunflower seeds
Everything from ticket fees
To the suicide squeeze
From screaming comebackers
To ball flight trackers

Missing is the bunt single
Dropped in the perfect place
The creaky-kneed catcher
Taking one off the face
Pitchers with blisters
Home run hitters
And 23 hoppers
That find their way through
An infield that shifted
Or that little blooper
Perfectly lifted

Absent is the groundcrew
Always raking, spraying
And cleaning up chew
Absent are the workers
And all the fans that we knew

Lemonade like Gramma made
Hot dog man in mid-bark
Cotton candy and churros
Everything has gone dark
  
"Keep me out of the ballpark…
Take me out of the crowd
Buy your own peanuts and Cracker Jacks
Nobody knows when we’ll be back"

One day, the leather will again pop
The 7th inning will stretch
Infield singles will drop

Just as saves will be blown
Managers will get tossed
Series will be won
Some will be lost

But these sights and sounds
Might not get repeated
Until this virus is done

Dusted 
and 
Defeated

Jesse Alberson
March 24, 2020

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