Every Opening Day
April 6 2008


Every opening day
even my team’s tied for first,
which is enough to make it perfect.
And when some slippery politician’s
ceremonial first pitch
dribbles half-way to the plate
it can only get better,
a full house of fans
hooting their derision.
There is still snow here,
but the diamond sparkles
— green grass luminous under artificial light,
and the bunting that drapes the stands
dizzy with primary colours.

They may be grown men,
balding under baseball caps
getting fat around the middle,
with trophy wives
who have too much time on their hands,
and triple A
just a phone call away.
But with high fives and manly hugs
trash-talking each other,
they’re excited little leaguers
— clowning 'round the dug-out,
expertly spitting sunflower seeds,
and muttering at umpires under their breath
digging-in for the crucial pitch.

This is a game
of cherished ritual and unwritten code,
played for as long as it takes ‘til it’s over
on a field that never ends.
And no matter when
opening day is always the first day of spring
— the day new life begins.