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

The Divide

“Sometimes, I want to reach right through the transmitters, WIFI’s and touch screens that divide us.  I want to reach through them and come after you with a vengeance.

“You know who you are – with your ridiculous politics, your seeming ignorance of human nature, and your arrogance.  You think all the evidence, all logic, all justice and morality are on your side.  You think anyone who doesn’t see the world the way you do is the victim of propaganda, guilty of stupidity, or worse.  You accuse others of being arrogant, when in fact, your arrogance is far greater than theirs.

“Yes, I’m talking about you.  Sometimes I want to reach right through the transmitters, WIFI’s and touch screens, grab you by the shoulders, shake you hard and ask, “What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?!”

“I’m sorry if this offends you, but sometimes, it feels good to tell you what I really think.”

Let’s face it: I’m not the only one who has felt  this way.  It’s a feeling practically every one of us has had, about somebody.  So I suspect you have felt the same way, perhaps about me.

That much we share.  Doesn’t that tell us something?