Here’s a poem I just ran across. I wrote it twenty three years ago. I guess the origins of WMBW go back further than I previously thought.
.
From front row seats
behind home plate
we watch the batter swing,
we hear the bat crunch,
we cringe and wince,
able to feel the wood
shatter in our palms.
.
I know that when my friend
puts one hand on the top
of her head, and the other
at the base of her jaw,
and pushes hard
in opposite directions,
the sound I hear is not
my own, but her neck cracking.
Still, I put my hand
to my own neck, and rub
away the hurt I feel.
.
Stopped at a traffic light,
hearing tires screech,
I hold the wheel tight
and step on the brake
to avoid the crash.
And when the screeching
stops in silence, I’m relieved.
.
We cannot help but empathize.
How much we share, unwittingly,
At times like these!
And how sad we are,
if we only laugh
when someone else
does something dumb.
.
3/14/96
Yes!