Babe wept

Tears on pinstripes
as a colosseum closes.
Buck up Bronx:
a new one will rise
next door, a temple built of
blood, sweat and taxes.

In Boston and Chicago
they cheer--as do I, from over here--
that New York's season is a bust.
It was ever thus:
Good folk everywhere
revel in rare
Yankee despair.

But there's no denying
a bittersweet fall.
We brook no bad will here;
baseball
is
like
dogs:
so full of good cheer,
so inherently sad.