From Front Row Seats

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

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