Poetry Reading

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.