Game 77

​CHI 102               MIL 98

I used to go to Wrigley all the time.

It used to be
You could walk up
An hour before the game
And buy eight dollar
Bleacher seats.

Used to be.

Now, I must have seen
The Assholes--
I mean Astros--
Beat the Cubs
In person
At least twenty times.

One of those times
I made a promise
To man and god alike:

If I ever see Jeff Bagwell
Or Craig Biggio
Out in the world,
I swear to God:
I’m gonna punch ‘em in the face.

But here’s the thing:

Since that day,
I have seen Jeff Bagwell
Out in the world--

Twice.

The first time
I was at work--
Waiting tables
At a hipster hotspot
In Austin.

The second,
We were both sitting courtside
At a Bulls-Rockets game
In Houston.

Like ballers.

And I could easily use the situations
To explain away why I never punched him,
But the truth is
I just grew up.

Both times
I thought about approaching him.

I’m not exactly sure why--
Maybe to confess or something.

Or maybe just to acknowledge something.

Hey, Remember when we were kids
And swore we’d be enemies forever?

Well, the things
That I decided to feel forever
While learning who I was

Got packed up
And pushed behind
The things I feel now.

Like my boxes of old journals
And my dad’s tarot cards.

Time is funny.

But instead,
Like a grownup,
I just did my thing
And left the guy alone.

Anyway,
The Assholes--
Oops: Astros
Are in the
American League now anyway,

So who even really cares.