minor days gone
the harsh winter air smothers canadian streets
and the sun reaching down, with its blaze,
is miles away from the lazy summer minor days
and popcorn, peanuts, and cheap american beer
not long ago, i was staring out my window
at the cbc building and the snow-covered sidewalks full of hurry
not long ago, i was walking down those streets full of parkas
and the same morning rush faces
not long ago, i was waiting for opening day, spring
soon came the sun, the pitch,
and popcorn, peanuts, and cheap american beer
and the romantic air in the empty minor league parks
the furthest thing from the fame
(and the noise of humans yelling on twitter)
canceling out all the surrounding noise
(minus me yelling at my MiLB APP)
the bats swung, pitches hurled,
some dancing the 12-6 dance,
offspeed, some heat,
sliding away from home.
some didn’t sink,
driven over fences
into a wall of american evergreens
that cast shadows onto the field.
shadows that swallow baseballs
I spent my summer in small towns,
the road now bending me home
and back to big city streets, big city lights
back to my condo only a few blocks from the dome
and september baseball, which is better than the smell of pumpkin spice lattes
minor days gone by in these late august nights
as the press box writes its final few headlines
about summer time baseball in small towns
and the humbling dream