Mind you, I’ve never been
west of the Mississippi
but each night this summer
in my bed I’m listening to
a strange bedtime story-
thanks to modern technology.
There’s a light blue glow
on the ceiling of my room
as I lay still and soak in the
lullaby of each Dodgers game
especially if it is his voice-
the sound of seasons past.
I imagine drinking Coronitas
in the parking lot while radios
blast the songs of Sublime.
I wonder if there are statues
to honor the great Sandy Koufax,
Jackie Robinson, or Kirk Gibson.
I dream of sitting in the bleachers
in Chavez Ravine without a jacket
or hat knowing the chance of rain
is just small talk, a bit of rumor.
I’d eat a Dodger Dog as the sun set
over the infamous Freeway traffic.
Without fail, after a few innings
I begin to fade away to sleep.
My wife come up to yell at me,
“Turn that off, you’re sleeping,”
she says and I roll over knowing