The twilight is now approaching
In the midst of the meadows in Flushing,
As the faithful do not shed tears to
An aging stadium of Orange and Blue.
Schelping through security, Gates A through D,
In my seat for first pitch, I know I’ll never be.
Navigated through construction, come what may,
But still had to park by the Grand Central Parkway.
Lament and Sentiment even I will not feign,
Especially during key plays, the stupid roar of the plane.
A growing line finds me positioned in the rear
For an Upper Deck snack bar and lukewarm beer.
Shea opened in World’s fashion in April, nineteen sixty-four,
But happily the Neon ball player and Apple will be no more.
But rest assure Mets fans, as a new dawn rises on the Citi,
Come hell or high water, our sight lines were better than Wrigley.
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