OPENING DAY

Hearing "Sweet Caroline"
on my bleacher's seat
opening my luggage
switching on my razor
reaching to shave
at the Red Sox game
facing off with the Athletics
a soccer manager
and poetry fan of bz
whose sickly daughter
now recovered
once majored in my class
of Chaucer's Middle English
and later Shakespeare
we knew young Bella
and her medic fella
from Cape Cod
who gives me a shout out
and Hank offers me a toast
and handshake
for God sake,
with Vermont maple syrup
griddle cakes,
a spinach croissant
and a saucer glass of wine
with my thankful satisfaction
offering me a better ticket
in a great space
to view the action
at the dug out on third base
unfortunately was my reaction
to sit near her kid,
named Stanley
with a hockey letter
on his name tag
who simply won't behave
snugly hiding in the crowd
nagging and screaming
loud words in the corridors
proudly with bad language
as he makes his way
out of the doors.