Hills, 11 May 2019

There we sat on a bench built by ball players
For ball players, looked out to the wooden fences
Lining the overgrown outfield, and tried to explain
Our theory of the nature of any and all games.
A game begins with enclosure, the creation
Of an encircling boundary, inside which the game,
Outside of which the world, reality, everything else.
The boundaries have befores and afters, even when
They have no heres or theres. The game may be
Playful, self-consciously pretending, may keep
Countable scores, may involve cheering and boasting
And laughter. The game may involve spectators.
But the game may also be serious, deadly, moralizing,
Shaming, may claim to be without end, may pretend
Not to be pretend, pretend “this is not a game.”
It is a game. If it has an outside to its borders,
If it has any rules, if it is iterative, if it distinguishes
Between the more and less real, it is a game.
Games are the true nests, homes, and dens of humans.
We sat on that weathered bench in the dugout,
Surveying the empty, disused ball field one August,
Nearly a dozen years ago, and attempted to explain.
Yesterday, in May, we returned with no one and nothing
But siskins, crows, insects, birches, mosses, spruce, and firs
For our spectators. The benches and their roofed dugout
Shelters were gone. Two conical heaps of splintered,
Rotting boards sat in what had been the infield, testifying
That someone had torn down the shelters pretty recently,
Perhaps for safety, not wanting anyone to play
Around in them, a local kid perhaps, only to get hurt
In a collapse. The wood-framed chainlink backstop
Still stood behind home plate, now home
To half a dozen young firs. The outfield fences
Were completely gone, replaced by an encroaching wave
Of more tiny firs, small soldiers. There were no bleachers,
Only one empty, tottering equipment shed, hanging open.
No one could possibly play ball here any more, not at all,
Although, mysteriously, part of the field was still
Bare of seedlings, covered in dandelions and new spring
Grasses that looked like they might have been mowed
Or hacked down at least once within the past year.
Games were still being played all around here.
Standing in the middle of the abandoned field
We could hear the cars and trucks down on the road.
But what could we explain now, to whom? Everything real
People had teamed up to push back, demarcate, clear,
Just by continuing, past the last game, drew near.