Jacob Eisenberg vents his frustrations about the new Yankee Stadium in the form of poetry…
The lawn looks the same- but it is not of my childhood.
This is not a sacred ground anymore.
This new grass reeks of corruption.
This bastion has become the epitome of a flawed 21st century.
The Hard Rock Café is nothing short of overtly superfluous.
The state of true art is anything but state-of-the-art.
If beauty comes from the beholder,
No billion-dollar complex can pave over my childhood.
Back when every Saturday was a family day.
Each one taken for granted…
Now, I come alone and ask myself: “Should I sit and reminisce, as I came to do?”
“Or, should I wander this new palace,
and gaze at its indulgences,
like it wants me to?”
This oasis used to belong to the working-class of the concrete jungle.
Its replacement is merely a jungle within the confines of concrete.
This new jungle encourages the bourgeoisie in
and sifts the serfs out.
Try explaining all this to Marianito, who grew up watching love
on the streets of Panama City.
-donde amor no cuesta nada.
Now, Marianito is too poor to watch his childhood in person.
1 East 161st Street, Bronx, New York now belongs to Wall Street.
My childhood sold out. And as a result, tickets now “sell out.”
Originally written in April of 2012