Us Cynics Are All The Same Poem by Raymond Farrell

There she was
On the front row of the bleachers
Shrieking like a banshee
That was a strike
Are you blind Ump
Right across the center of the plate
I overheard her mother
(A woman I barely knew)
Sitting in the seat beside me
Say to the woman next to her
She
(Gesturing to the woman shrieking on the front row)
Is getting married in 2 months
Rooting around in her purse
She pulled out her cell phone
Turned it on and went online
To a site selling wedding dresses
She's insisting on wearing a white dress
And this is the one
She has picked out
Isn't that lovely said the woman
I thought to myself
She's balled the whole team
Including the bat boy, the water boy
And even the coach
What in God's Holy Name
Is this medieval obsession
With wearing a white dress all about?
Pure as the driven snow
Is the old shibboleth
People used to repeat
Pure as the driven slush
Is more like it I thought
Whatever color that is
My mind couldn't help but wonder
If she has a bun in the oven
It seems on a basic level
Us cynics are all the same.