Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize didn’t change my life, but

I was watching the game on television in the top of the 5th

during a rain delay when out of nowhere I was informed that

Bob Dylan had won the Nobel Prize for literature.

my thoughts immediately turned to my friend, unknown, unpublished, starving

in Cholula, and writing the best poems of his weary life in postwar Mexico.

here’s one José sent to me last month:

"the sun, she sets

over the pueblo

and the donkey,

he drinks

from the shallow

pan where

the broken

tractor, it leaks

and my dog, he howls

at the sun

too stupid to know

it isn’t the moon."

now there's a damn righteous poem right there if you ask me.

anyway, I like that Dylan won the Nobel Prize.

I was there, in Newport in '65 when he moaned, electrically charged:

"I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more."

I neither booed nor cheered being too drunk on yards of beer, but

what it says is.. I've got skin in the game. but, christ.

It’s been over two hours and damn!

the tarp still covers the infield at Fenway.