The coldest October
They could remember,
And shortest.
What a thing
To catch lightning
And miss.
In the seventh
You’re loved
And in the eighth,
Loathed.
A fight breaks out,
An ace pitcher weeps.
We skulk away
And talk of curses,
What we must do next season,
As if we ever had a say.
The gods must love
The game.
@ Dodger Stadium