Amid the mad mull of trivia,
a dull moment, line waiting
taking a breath and looking
I spend three hours a week,
every week, here. And yet,
I’ve never seen the posters.
I should keep track of them;
that might be useful sometime.
Oh, no, no. That’s not trivia.
That would not be a question.
Oregon vs. Arizona State on TV;
Ducks up 43 points at the half.
That’s trivia. That’s important.
The line moves.
I brush up against the poster
of an old rock band’s gig.
History, yes, trivia, maybe,
but more than that, so much
more than just a marker of that,
but a piece with weight and shape;
its own presence, firmly established.
This isn’t just history or trivia,
this is life; I should be seeing this
not to remember and regurgitate,
not for ego and a free round of beers.
I should be here, now, grounded,
living in my own life,
cultivating my own trivia,
no, no, not just flecks of information
but cultivating a whole life,
a story, a whirling world to tell
My set of ears hears the world sing
and your set of eyes tint it orange;
subjective interpretations of the objective thing.
we can touch it, together.
But we will never know it together
until we tell each other the story
the story of our experience of the thing.
Together we create a shared thing
when I look at that trivia pad,
your meaning and my meaning of it
are both in my mind, both here!
The line moves.
But for now I am Team America.
We must give four more answers.
Perhaps we win, perhaps not;
One more night in a long line.
Does this night matter?
No more than any other night,
Not trivia-worthy in the least.
But there is more to meaning
than whether the day tells well;
We are always a part of others’
Tonight is not worthy to be my trivia
But I could be a part of someone’s history.
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