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Take Me Out to the Crowd

I’ve enjoyed writing for many years. I'm dedicating more time to the craft in my retirement days.

Did you stand

In a long line

To get into your team’s big game?

With all the drunk crazies

Weaving this wayzies

And that wayzies

And bumping you

Did you get in

Take your seat


“I’ll never come here

To a ball game


Did you hold on

With a death grip

When riding in the big city taxi?

The cabbies were crazy

Weaving this wayzy

And that wayzy

At breakneck speed

Did you get out

Pay the fare


“I’m not going anywhere

In one of those


My friend,

Me too

But do you

Now pine

For those times

The lines

The crazies

The fast-talking,


Tweed hat-wearing


I do

I mean

I think I do

And I miss you

I don’t even know you

But it’s true

I do

I miss the quick nod

Or the “Fuck you!”

The “How do you do?”

The “I’m good, how are you?”

I miss the

“How’s it going?”

As you zing by

It’s loud

In the buzzing crowd

Walking elbow

To elbow

Then you stop and turn

I can see your breath

‘Cuz it’s late-fall chilly

And you can see mine

And we don’t mind

That vapor moving

Between us

Near us

Above us

Around us

Everyone else’s breath

Comes into view, too

And a passerby yells,

“Yoo hoo!”

Right near us

But you don’t look

Not for you

Or me

And the pleasantries

Are done

“Gotta run!”

Shake hands

Maybe hug

“Let’s have a beer!”

You hold up your phone

And point

“I’m here!”

Turn and rejoin the gaggle

Of humanity

That throng

Moving along

And hail a cab

To catch a ride

To the stadium

Oh, yum

Nathan’s Hot Dog

Fenway Frank

Wrigley Dog

Just ahead

Take me out to the ball game

Take me out to the crowd…

Forget the peanuts and Cracker Jacks

I just want a ball park hot dog

I want to buy it from the guy

With the metal tray

Wearing that goofy hat

Yelling, “Hot dog, get your hot dog!”

And I want to be packed in

With other people I don’t know

Where it’s loud

So when I stand and wave

I hit the other dude’s elbow

And his popcorn spills

On his girl’s lap

And I say, “Sorry”

As I sit down and eat my frank

With mustard

And tell him to holler at the

Popcorn guy

When he comes by

And I’ll pay

Wish I could do that today

Or tomorrow

Don’t you?

© 2021 greg cain

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