Familar Strangers

Before I was born (as Cubs often say),

‘The Friendly Confines’ became currency:

Jack Brickhouse ordained it one sunny day,

musing for all who breathe in the ivy,

planted before World War II by Bill Veeck,

peg-legged thereafter in grooming more fields,

Cleveland’s with Paige and Comiskey’s high tech,

personal promos beyond turnstyle yields.

I met him, mid-80’s, a bleacher bum,

and asked how and why he’d left the south side:

at Wrigley, you march to a different drum,

and hardly expect a turn of the tide.

He mumbled an answer, eyes on the game,

your home beyond home is baseball’s best gift,

as rosters change and you learn each new name,

you open your doors and welcome the shift,

‘Hey! José Cardenal—now you’re a Cub!’

and then you’re a Phillie—like Dallas Green,

honestly steering this promising club,

home to our hopes, if you know what I mean.

True, baseball guru, beyond our great year;

I’ll count on each inning, hit, run and out,

from bleachers to box scores to ice-cold beer,

in heaven with friends who gather about.
 

Daniel Martin Vold Lamken (2016)