She comes prepared.
From a tattered gym bag
her game cushion,
worn to fit her,
a few chewed but sharp #2 pencils,
her own pad of score sheets,
and a flask of black coffee.
She measures life
n baseball time:
born the year Yankee Stadium opened,
married the summer of The Streak,
son born during Jackie Robinson's
daughter born two days after
the "shot heard 'round the world,"
alone since the Yankees' last pennant.
"Leaving before the last out,"
she says, resting her chin on her
"is like dying
before your time."