This one time, Richie Sexson

hit a ball off the flagpole

in centerfield. You could see

the impact mark for years,

a reminder that the world

doesn’t always move forward—

or maybe it’s that

spaces never forget pain,

some kind of play

on that concept the body

keeping the score. I suppose

none of this matters now

because the pole is gone

& the hill is too,

another oddity vanished,

which seems to happen

frequently these days—

every new building looks

like every other one,

uniqueness no longer

constructed. Now, when

a ball flies into the middle

of Minute Maid,

there’s nothing for it

to clang against.