That’s “Hill-William” To You, Sir!

Sweltering midsummer days on Reed Street,

three disparate baseball diamonds shoved

together to form an expansive, shapeless conglomerate. 

Blistering, crushed red brick

leaving its painful trademark on sunburned skin. 

Chatter and taunts from dugouts,

children who, no matter how

passionate or competitive, were never

able to outshine their parents’ fervor. 

Capitalism at work on the backs

of these young dreamers’ jerseys. 

One can’t help but ponder if the

“Murderer’s Row” Yankees were also

sponsored by local real estate agents. 

I’d like to think that they were. 

Dreams were lived out on

these manicured fields. 

Many more dreams died. 

I played first base.