I like how this poem by Philip Lawrence captures the feel of attending a baseball game. Sitting in the stands during pre-game warmups, scanning the field and the crowd, and settling in for an afternoon of fun.
*
warm May morning
early cool breeze
pock-marked bleachers
men loping lazily across
a verdant carpet as
bright-white baseballs are
snared under ice-blue skies
and as three-year-old eyes
dart unfailingly, and
sneakers kick up and down
mid-air while tiny fingers
grip the metal chair in
full anticipation
