DONKEY AT THE MET
It’s quite a coup to be a donkey at the Met:
you, showily costumed for your brief part,
arias in front and behind as close as you get
to fame, to sending a bray to the upper deck.
You drink in the lights as you pull your smart cart.
It’s quite a coup to be a donkey at the Met.
When the wings approach, you feel regret—
who wouldn’t, scratching just the surface of art,
arias in front and behind as close as you get.
As you add to the atmosphere, you try not to fret—
All life belongs to the same beating heart.
It’s quite a coup to be a donkey at the Met:
Most only labor—no museums or ballet—
their hides ignorant of melodies that pierce like darts,
arias lifting and swelling the closer they get,
the ensemble on the balcony, the lover’s duet,
the crowd joined in passion before coming apart—
It’s quite a coup to be a donkey at the Met,
to witness the arias from as close as one gets.
—from Poets Respond
May 24, 2022
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Devon Balwit: “Amidst the continuing war, the threat to reproductive rights, ugly elections, and racially motivated shootings, perhaps a poem like this seems trivial—still—this story spoke to me and made me think of my own walk-on part on life’s great stage.” (web)
