Out of New York, Endlessly Raking

The Mets are facing a couple terrible decisions when it comes to their pair of homegrown stars on the left side of the infield. Given their recent history, Mets fans can be forgiven for being pessimistic. In that honor, here’s a pre-requiem for David Wright and Jose Reyes. Apologies to Walt Whitman.

Out of New York, Endlessly Raking

OUT of New York, endlessly raking,
Out of the Mama’s of Corona, the seven-train shuttle,
Out of the Willets Point midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields of Flushing, where the children, leaving their beds, wander’d alone, cap-headed, jersey’d,
Down like the curve of Waino,
Up watching the mystic play of dreadlocks, twining, twisting and jumping as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of blue and orange,
From the memories of the young duo that enchanted us,
From your memories, sad brother —- from the fitful risings and fallings in the standings,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears from game seven,
From those beginning notes of sick speed and excellent pop, there below the LaGuardia jetstream,
From the thousand responses of the crowd, seemingly never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d chants,
From the shouts stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As the fans, twittering, chatting, or on their way for beer,
Borne hither—ere all elude me, hurriedly,
A man — yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the infield dirt, confronting the departure,
I, chanter of wins and losses, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all drag bunts and dashing triples to use them — but swiftly leaping beyond the tag,
A reminiscence sing.