***
Sitting spectatorially in
sofa stands, i watch as two October wars
rage. Through glass eyes, glass screen
i patricianly observe, black box in hand to
mediate. The third, the visceral, in me:
which to settle upon? Both will
make history, both will be assessed,
tossed around analyzed up and down for
years to come. In the first conflict i at least
have a voice, but using it seems only
quietly gurgling: it drowns in ideology rivers and
policy rain converging in
halftrue stewy sea whose water is mostly
salt. My heart finds it
undrinkable, instead just floats upon it
recklessly abandoned like
an oar that used to steer someone else’s boat.
In the other i have
no say, no power, no
stake even. The outcome changes
nothing, no lives are trampled or
saved, no schools closed or
opened. And yet i am compelled,
entrapped; disabled by bomb blasts of
awe. It sucks me in smartly, tightly, like a
fat man’s belly near a pretty girl.
There is an elation here, an
involvement, a genuine
hope. I opt finally for
this innocence, this nowness, this
momentary onliness:
the crucial importance of baseball. i
smile, and remember what it was like
to play as a boy.
i couldn’t tell you
who won the debate, but i am
pretty sure it wasn’t
you or me.
***
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