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In the middle
of the concrete heat
boys manning our
sneakered positions tarred
in the block's summer field
We hustled out
fates into shape
on the city's sweating face
in the lean, bouncing grace
of our broomstick, rubber ball game
bound by the sewers and parked cars
of our Outlaw Little League
While on the sidelines
dreaming in our cheers
the old men watched
bleachered on brownstone stoops
and iron fire escapes
making small book on the shadowy
skills of stickball stars
lost in the late-inning sun
of the stadiumed street's
priceless, makeshift diamond
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