Game 1 isn’t until Saturday,
but Main Street is already a carnival.
Every shop takes sides,
orange banners for the Giants
or green pennants for the A’s,
flags in windows
covering Halloween decorations,
like the holiday doesn’t even exist.
Our world is made of baseball.
Even skeletons wear jerseys
and pumpkins wear batters’ helmets.
At school, the boys
pull mitts from lockers,
play ball at lunch and recess.
Every day Jordan invites me.
Sometimes I want to, but
when I think about stepping
on the field, it feels
like I have already missed
an important catch,
or struck out,
so I don’t go.
I feel like one day
I might.