The Friendly Confines (open form)

Maybe you held the ticket stub in your hand,
the edge was rough on your fingertips where it had been ripped.
Maybe it was a warm day and the humidity grew when you walked inside its brick framework.
The laughing and restless chatter rose into the air.
The friendly confines.
But the concrete was cold and the railing cool as you grabbed it,
helping you up the ramp.
And as you climbed green appeared and you looked up at him,
looking for confirmation, seeking a realization.
It wasn’t a dream.
Maybe he smiled, knowingly.
Proud he was responsible for giving you this moment, his son.
A moment you’d tell your children about.
You’d tell them about a place that has proven itself indescribable.
A magical place that feels like home.
The friendly confines.
The ivy appeared and you watched it coil around that wall.
You smelled the fried food in the air; saw the bags of peanuts whirl over your head.
Maybe when you reached your seat you took it all in.
The buildings climbing behind the green and white scoreboard,
the numbered uniforms running below you,
all the legends that ran before you,
and the man sitting next to you.
The friendly confines.