opening day

we're waiting for the bus
to take us downtown, the
green and dull grey
A-9 to the national archives,
fifty cents in hand,
where we will transfer onto
the dc transit to dc stadium
which sits like a strange
cement circle
next to the dc prison,
we will watch the senators play
the new york yankees.
another fifty cents to get in.
mickey will be there, and mel
and pepitone. i can still name
the entire starting line up
of the washington team.
epstein, howard, brinkman,
cassanova at catcher, and
they stunk the joint up then
just as they do now but with
a different name and in a
different park.
but i'm waiting for the bus,
i'm thirteen or fourteen,
skipping school with my brother
who will one day preach the
gospel and this may be the
worst thing he's ever done
in his entire life, which
wouldn't be true for me, but
together, off we go with just
enough money for a dog
and a coke and bus fare home,
and a ticket into the bleachers
in deep right field,
into the chill of april in our
short sleeved shirts and jeans,
our ball caps and gloves,
with the cherry blossoms
in bloom aong the way.
it's opening day.