• stopping by fenway on a chilly evening

    by  • April 16, 2016 • baseball, poetry • 4 Comments

    Last night, Ginger and I got to go to the Red Sox game, thanks to our friends Fez and Maggie. It was our first time in the park in five years. As I reflected on the train ride back today, I channelled Robert Frost.

    Stopping by Fenway on a Chilly Evening

    Whose house this is I think I know—
    Been here a hundred years or so;
    It’s so familiar stopping here
    To watch the game and feel the glow.

    We Boston fans all think it great
    When  Papi steps up to the plate—
    Tonight he even stole a base,
    And helped our team to dominate.

    We’re just beginning his last year,
    So strange to think he won’t be here
    To swing and smile and raise our hopes
    And call us all to persevere.

    Ortiz, he stands so Boston strong,
    And on this night we all belong;
    So good—we all can sing along,
    So good—we all can sing along.



    Blogging since December 2005


    4 Responses to stopping by fenway on a chilly evening

    1. kennywood
      April 16, 2016 at 10:30 pm

      There are so many mysteries. The mystery of Fenway and Ted Williams; the universal center of love that bursts open in Jesus; the paste made from spit and dirt that opens blind eyes; and the maxi-mystery of how Milton knows which pan to pull out of the cupboard.

    2. April 17, 2016 at 5:57 pm

      I just fell in love with baseball. Eat your heart out, Robert Frost!

    3. Maggie Dolbow
      April 17, 2016 at 8:56 pm

      This needs to go to Fenway.

    4. Paul Cook
      April 18, 2016 at 9:13 pm

      Robert Frost would be sitting next to you with his mitt on.

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