Today's poem is by Jose Hernandez Diaz

Little League, America
       

Growing up, I always wanted to play Little League baseball or organized basketball, whatever it was called back then. I knew we couldn't afford it, so I didn't make a big deal about it to my parents. Maybe I asked once or twice, but I always knew what the answer was going to be. I did, however, play a lot of street basketball at the local parks with my friends who also lived in low-rent apartments in middle-class suburbs. My friends and I never really talked about Little League, but I remember one time, on my way to the asphalt courts, I stopped by the lush Little League field at the park and watched the mostly suburban white kids playing baseball with their new uniforms which mimicked the team names of the big-league clubs. Was I jealous? I don't remember, probably, though. No, I didn't use it as inspiration to achieve. I didn't cry about it at night, either. I just wanted to be out there, with my schoolmates, playing shortstop on a Little League field, in the country I loved.

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Copyright © 2024 Jose Hernandez Diaz All rights reserved
from Shō Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission