by Ryan Diaz
Mets @ Brewers, Final Score: 4-2. METS WIN!
I’m only a pagan come October, when the
air cools and the leaves burn bright
and expectation fills the air like
incense spooling from marble altars,
and prayers like candles light the night.
And maybe Odin, after losing his bout
with Christ, figured an American pastime
.    would have to do, and Zeus
for all his thunder, settled for blessing bats,
heeding the prayers of grown men
.    who long after boyhood still wear
their baseball caps.
Maybe last night, one of them listened,
and in the bottom of the ninth worked
a little magic—and I, agnostic at best, atheist at worst
.    summoned up the faith
to ask for a blast over the right field fence.
Ryan Diaz is a writer and poet from Queens, NY. He is the author of three poetry books — For Those Wandering Along the Way (Wipf & Stock), Skipping Stones (Wipf & Stock) and The Wounded Monk — a chapbook of short poetry, Like Falling Leaves, and a novel, Abuelo: A Memoir. He lives in Queens, NY, with his wife Janiece and his son Damian, and is a lifelong (self-loathing) New York Mets fan.
