Hey there, Empire State,
in which is New York City,
is it time for baseball play
with no fans…sound kinda sh*tty…
something new.
But what else are you gonna do?
A new worldview.

Hey there, umpire,
how you gonna stay safe distance?
Usually you are only
separated by just inches
from the guys
who hope to hit the ball to the skies…
have such good eyes.

Can’t keep a distance safely….

Hey there, high-flyer ,
you hit the ball so hard,
but to home plate it’s hurled;
you try to slide, but by catcher the way’s barred--
this ain’t good,
’cause you’re in contact’s neighborhood…
you’ve no mask hood.

There’s the umpire,
who’s getting in on the fray.
And now both of them are breathing on you;
they’re yelling and they spray.
And worst of all:
Not only does he spray, but he bawls—
“Out!” is the call.

You look at ump angrily;
and the stands of fans empty.

Playing the game this way’s bizarre;
return to normal is off, far!
so you get no fan encouragement this way.
So as you like there in the dust,
thinking, this isn’t the way things should go…
ain’t the way the game should be played.
Umpire hovers over you,
having done a droplets spew.
A crazy way to play the game…
just ain’t the same.

Maybe retire
from this “new normal” that’s missing
the fans and the spitting and the drool?
The fans as well as players are feeling blue;
in the season, games will be few.
No one knows exactly what to do.
There’s a glum ire in the crew…
the call’s “Strike 2!”

You look at ump angrily;
you’re starting to feel sickly.