I tried to buy a ticket
For a play that came to town,
As it was a famous play
Not a ticket could be found.
I was just about to leave,
When a stranger caught my arm.
I thought he was a mugger
Then I saw he meant no harm.
He’d bought his wife a ticket
He would like to give to me.
As his wife had passed away.
He would let me have it free.
He had also waited long
Just to see this famous play
The time had finally come
His last chance had been today.
I Went with him up the stairs
To a most expensive seat,
It was padded and had arms
And a place to stretch my feet.
I could tell that he was sad
That his wife had passed away.
He said she’d really wanted
To be here to see this play.
I felt like an intruder
Like I was some kind of thief.
A friend should get her ticket
Just to help him with his grief.
He said his friends were busy
Since this was a matinee,
They were all down at the church
‘Cause her funeral was today.
Have you ever looked forward to an occasion for so long that you felt nothing, short of all out nuclear war, could keep you from going? That’s what happened to the stranger in Free Ticket. I know that there must be a better title for this poem, one that would put just the finishing touch on it but I just couldn’t think of one.
This was originally a golf story but I already have two golf stories in the book, so I took the liberty of changing it to the theater. The stranger had two choices; it was his last chance to see this particular long-awaited play and it was the day of his wife’s funeral. The poem wouldn’t have been funny if he had attended the funeral. That should tell us something about American humor.
Wonder if it would be funny in Mozambique?
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