Demetral Field

The park is a desolate place at sundown
Especially when it hasn’t rained
And the grass is all toothpicks and weeds.
The cars pass by abandoned warehouses and meat packing plants.
Las putas use the ancient pay phones at the gas station to pick up their tricks
And vagrants drink on empty bleachers overlooking empty softball fields.

Walking there with my son one evening
Stirring up small sand dunes around the bleachers
I threw a bottle cap absentmindedly into a dented 55-gallon drum.

My son found one too,
And standing on his toes
Stretched out like Jordan,
He slid the bottle cap into the trashcan.

And then he saw another and another and another.

Behind the backstop they were everywhere
Partially exposed in the dunes among the cigarette butts.

Corona Extra, Heineken, Bud Light, Parrot Bay, Thunderbird,
These caps betrayed the destinies of their brief owners.

As fast as he could, my son picked them up
And ran back to the barrel, slam-dunking each one with triumph.

And in that golden light, when the shadows are their longest,
And things can be seen in their true depth
These cast off bits of metal from picnics, softball games, and oblivion
Were treasures, and this forgotten park the whole world.

Copyright, 07/21/07, Seth McClure.
All rights reserved by author.