Mr. Cohen smiles at me
while I eat the biggest jelly donut
he’s ever baked, and we listen
to my father tell the story.
It was a wild party,
the game was about to start.
We watched the recap
of Jose Canseco crossing the plate,
the crowd making all the noises
and then the picture just started to crackle,
and there’s Al Michaels,
he cuts in, says,
“You know what … I think we’re having an earth—”
and everything went dark,
and it was like a giant steamroller
came out of right field
and rammed full speed into the ’Stick.
The upper deck shaking,
escalators blowing off their tracks,
everyone screaming, screaming, screaming …
He pauses. Everyone is breathing loudly,
Mr. Cohen and my grandfather
like little kids at story time.
But you know what?
Candlestick stood up to the quake.
The strangest part,
people just walking on the grass
inside the diamond,
through the dugouts,
no more players or fans,
no more A’s or Giants,
the green and the orange
mixing all together,
just everyone looking out for each other.
Me and my buddy carried
a man with a hurt leg
all the way across the field.
My grandfather hugs my father,
looks at me.
Etan, I already told your father
about our adventures here,
but I think you two should talk.