hot roasted peanuts

peanuts
the man yelled
walking
down
the stadium
steps, seemingly
limping with
both legs.
peanuts.
get your red
hot peanuts.
he had on a
paper white
hat
and kept wiping
his brow
with a rag
that hung
like a limp flag
from his pocket.
the silvery metal
box was stuffed
with peanuts
in little bags,
so they weren't
hot at all.
a grey strap that held
the box was flat
against his neck,
reddened by
the afternoon sun.
when he heard
the crack of a bat
he stared down
at the field
watching for a brief
moment
the action
on the emerald
diamond. go, go, he'd
say. slide.
there you go.
and then, peanuts,
get your hot
roasted peanuts.