MEAT GRINDER
from Full Count: The Book of Mets Poetry

I have found
the perfect companion
to watch Mets games with:

-a meat grinder-

At the start of each game
I place the grinder next to my chair
crack a beer, recline and let the fun begin

First I place my fingers
into the chute and dangle them
over the spinning blades

With each passing inning
fingers move deeper into the machine
until I feel the pressure of the blades
against my fingertips

At first, I ignore the pain
it’s just a few lacerations, that’s all
and besides, we’re leading
by a score of “three-zip” in the eighth

but then a pitching change
and it’s Aaron Heilman

I start to get a sick feeling

My fingers become lodged
beyond return, then my forearm

I lean forward in the chair
shaking left to right
hoping to free myself from the
stainless steel beast now dangling
from the side of my body

Heilman walks
leadoff man in four pitches
and I start sinking
deeper into the machine

I push back from the chair
lifting right leg over head
then down against the meat grinder
trying to force loose
but
my foot slips into the chute
then calf, knee and thigh

With one leg left, I furiously
kick at the meat grinder
yet it too becomes lodged and devoured

Now, head and torso
sticking out of the chute;
the other half of me being
pressed out of the grinder plates

-I begin to panic-

Then it happens:
Heilman gives up another walk
a base hit, then a home run

-another blown game-

Down I go,
forced through the bowels
of a meat grinder,
pressed through chute and blades,
and onto the floor
in a glorious, warm and bleeding
pile of fan bits

by Frank Messina