by Stephen Jones
In Baltimore today,
Because of instability,
Baseball’s being played
Behind close-door security.
With no fans’ cheers or jeers,
With no waves or foam fingers . . .
It’s a sad baseball first.
In 1857, 16 teams
Were organized in New York.
And nationwide, by ’65,
It was well over a hundred.
History says, even in war
No game’s been played
Without some fan present.
But today Camden Yards is empty–
It’s empty of its soul.
Ticket holders have been told
To stay away
Because of violence in the streets–
And the only way to see the game
Is via cable at home.
I’d rather throw a baseball . . .
Not a rock.
Good verse, but as for the game, it would have been more reasonable to postpone it.
Great poem, but a sad commentary.
Did you receive my sad comment about the ballgame.
Thanks for keeping us posted on all your poems. J&A