The Guy in the Seat Next to You

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MK Punky


The Guy in the Seat Next to You                    

The challenge for a poet at the ball game

is a triplicate predicament:

He must not swoon over the greenness of the grass.

He must not view every little lovely detail as a metaphor waiting to be transcribed for posterity.

He must not recite rambling stories with no discernible point

except to subtly imply it was all somehow better back when he was a boy

when baseball was a mystery, not a business.

Do not sit next to this man

gleefully noting the aural pastiche of cracks and whizzes and pops

a Partch percussion symphony

trimmed in wood and cowhide.

He will talk your ear off if you let him.


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