Watching No Baseball
by Alan Harris
We are sitting behind left field,
you and I, alone in the stadium.
We watch home plate where
no batter swings at no ball
that no pitcher has pitched.
Intently we follow no action anywhere.
The scoreboard contains no numbers
about forgotten innings.
Behind home plate
no umpire fiddles with
his protective pad
or runs the game with
shouts and gestures.
We are very much here.
No catcher signals for
crafty pitches to be hurled
from the vacant mound.
We sit here
safely upheld by bleachers
empty of roaring rabble.
Undwarfed by
an immense space
entirely eventless,
we inhale silence.
No need for talk.
After just enough
emptying of minds,
seeing everything that is
and isn't here
from arbitrary seats,
we know that it's over.
Down the winding exit stairs
we climb without a word
behind no crowds
to the busy sidewalk.
We exchange glances
but don't need to say
who won.
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