but when we did, Dad would always
want to leave after the 7th inning stretch.
To beat the traffic, he’d say.
And there in the asphalt field
all by ourselves, there was
a way the stadium would
sound glowing in the distance behind us
when it was still alive, still hopeful,
we’d hear the surge of crowd noise from something
we’d missed but don’t really miss, because
we knew we’d never remember the game,
but we’d always remember the feeling of this walk back
through the peripheral quiet, and the coolness in the autumn-beckoning air.

Corydon Doyle grew up in Westhampton Beach, Long Island. In 2011 he self-published a book of poetry titled Columnated Ruins, and in 2012 a children’s book titled Daydreams and Nightdreams, which earned a Gold Medal Moonbeam Award. His poems have appeared in the Long Island Quarterly, The Suffolk County Poetry Review, and the Bards Annual. He currently teaches high school English and lives in Center Moriches with his wife, their two sons, and their dog Luna.