the forever strike zone painted on the wall

behind

the bowling alley,

sixty years ago,

we painted

a strike zone

on the wall with a can

of black spray

paint.

our ball caps on,

with a rubber ball,

one bat,

and one glove

we played

stick ball

until the sun went down.

our arms

would be sore,

our legs tired from

chasing

the ball down the street,

or over

the fence into

the storm drain

beside

the lot, or down a sewer.

i drove by there yesterday,

with the doors locked

on my car.

the strike

zone

was still there, but

little else.