by Stephen Jones
Labor Day – fulcrum point for a reason.
Now teams play for a season.
The Yankees (for example) swing to October,
But this may not be a season to remember. . . .
Except for the injuries, drugs, and media . . . this team
Has played the game with a solid dream.
Our posture? Live in New York and inhale
“Jeterian.” The ballpark air is not stale,
My Yankees are not in the grave.
I always dream the pinstripe brave
And hope that, somehow, in the tight race
The Yankees get a wild card place.
Published in New York Yankees | Link to this poem | 1 Comment