Randall Jarrell
A NURSERY RHYME
Here we are: the Bowl, the thousands,
This is the team we've got to beat.
They're warming up. But something's wrong.
You feel it? No? Then take a seat.
They're using a shift I haven't seen.
What are the rooters yelling?
Things have a look I hardly like.
Perhaps we should go. You're still not willing?
Then destiny must have blinded you.
For behind you, in their sallow lines,
The noosed ones cough; a foot from your face
The carrot-haired barber halts and grins;
The orphan laterals the warden's head
To a manic who gains eleven yards,
Runs to the stands and assaults a nurse,
Is beaten to shreds by the fretting guards;
First down: the giant from the criminal side
Cuts the umpire half in two with a cleaver,
Is clipped by the badly demented passer
Who finds he's lost his last receiver;
The frothing thousands yell
Water! Water!
Rain bottles and bombs on the cartwheeling leaders,
The racing-plane with the kidnapped star
Is down in flames in Section R:
The ravished Scout-no, not today.
Let's stop pretending it's Judgment Day.
Because each of you knows as well as I
What it is I'm trying to say;
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