July 23
There’s something elegant
About opening day
Where the history of the team
Is on display and recounted
For the umpteenth time
So that everyone knows
What we came from.
But the slate is wiped clean
There’s no score retained
And the players take the field
Ready to play
Having practiced and trained
As if it all mattered
Each time they make it home again.
Confessions of last year
The errors they made,
The games that they played
Are remembered forever
And forgotten again
Recorded incessantly
Without an impression
On what they are doing
Today.