A baseball fan sits high in a silent ballpark,
Lost in sun's rays
Streaking over outfield bleachers,
Shining through upper deck facade,
Once a defining trait
Of this stadium's predecessor,
Meditating on what opening day means.
Thirty teams even in the standings,
Though not in talent,
Revenue, or cash to spend,
Begin the season,
Same as more than a hundred before–
With hopes of a league pennant,
Dreams of a world series championship banner,
Visions of glory hoisted up centerfield flagpole next spring.
He closes his eyes;
Basks in the dawn of a new season.
Photo credit: New York Yankees Twitter Feed
