by Hilary Barta
The chance of advancement seemed dim
All those who preceded a “him”
She bided her time
A thirty-year climb
Meet General Manager Kim.
False Classic
by Hilary Barta
With sit-com laugh tracks I’m uneasy
And phony cheers just make me queasy
No sound engineer
Will ever come near
To the essence that makes Wrigley breezy.
Celebrate End Times, Come On!
by Hilary Barta
With his hair and his beard burning red
Through the air what they’ve feared he could spread
Oh, this guy is a scream
He puts “I” into “Team”
Tries to share (which is weird) COVID dread.
To Ring the Bell on Snell
by James Finn Garner
A bevy of young bureaucrats
Believe winning relies strictly on stats
But when numbers belie
What you see with your eyes
You’ll make changes undeniably bats.
The Ghost of Baseball Past
by Hilary Barta
Where Addison Street crosses Clark
Sound echoes in still empty park
By the lake now there’s peace
As the fake soundtracks cease
With an end to pretend crowd noise spark.