First poetry reading
in a couple of decades.
I laughed.
I cried.
I sat in awe.
That night I learned:
Georgia Peaches
are FREAKY!
Kansans punch
two year olds,
in the face,
for crying.
During intermission
while smoking a cigar,
playing cool and aloof (who am I kidding?)
I listened to conversations.
One common thread,
among poets who
stay in the game is:
poetry kills the poet-
but what a way to go.
While waiting for the crapper
I was let in on a little known
secret,
(to men)
about women’s public restroom
etiquette.
Women,
whatever you do,
never,
I mean never,
talk on your cell phone
while on the can.
--You will be busted out
by one of your sisters
with explosive bowl syndrome—
I learned the significance
of PBR in a can, also
that same PBR
on an empty stomach
is money well spent.
Most importantly,
I remembered that words are best shared
with other people.
