Poem: Not too Proud to Officiate

by Alex Gallo-Brown

I am not too proud

to officiate kickball

to preside over colorful young professionals

booting their way through

a Sunday afternoon

Twelve bucks a pop they pay me

to call balls and strikes,

and to arbitrate a series of other

overly complex rules

The teams, some of them, summon

a seriousness those Sundays,

a fierceness, a fervor

that can discomfit.

But others convey an Absurdist take.

Grown up children

or childish adults,

playing the game as it was intended.

The Somberists, on the other foot,

approach the game like full-fledged adults,

strategizing and scolding,

employing sarcasm and stomping around.

Like playground bullies, they revel 

in their anger, their meanness,

they thrive on meaningless conflict.

Meanwhile, behind the plate, 

I narrate the balls and strikes,

hollering into the day

for a little bit of cash,

trying to confine my judgments to the rule book

instead of the players' characters.