by Jeffrey Felshman
The first fan on Citi Field
ran first to second base,
was taken down in center field,
and hustled out of the place.
With a stuffed and fuzzy monkey
placed over his manly jewels,
preventing unwanted scrutiny,
he was nearly but not totally nude.
This was five years in planning, he’d said,
and in the top of the fifth, he’d stripped.
To seize his moment in history, he’d meant,
and from his front row seat, he’d leapt.
But history ain’t what it used to be,
and streaking into this category fits.
Historically speaking, streakers
strip down to the last of their bits.
This one couldn’t bear to be bare,
he couldn’t go all the way.
His plan wasn’t all the way there,
his triumph a partial display.
Now, history isn’t written by the winners,
it’s digitally uploaded by upstarts,
chronicling a continual parade
of missing and lesser parts.
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