An old poem of mine, based on nonattendance experiences--one I had at a now-very-long-gone reading in San Gabriel and the other happening to someone I knew (who was a veteran of the scene, unlike the character in the poem) who did an "evening with" reading at a now-long-gone venue in Sherman Oaks where only two people (I was one of those people) came and the owner eventually pulled the plug on the night:
AN EMPTY ROOM
8:00 p.m.
Poet has his first featured reading
at a local bookstore.
No one is there but poet
and the bookstore's owner.
8:10 p.m.
Poet reassures himself that other poets
will soon arrive at the reading.
Poet knows that poets often arrive late--
what is known as "poetry time."
8:20 p.m.
No one else shows up.
8:30 p.m.
Poet begins to panic.
He handed out flyers at other readings
and publicized his feature on the Internet.
He thinks: My poetry can't be this bad!
8:40 p.m.
Host arrives at store.
Host apologizes profusely to poet
for the lack of audience.
Host says to poet: You don't deserve this.
Host and poet stare at five rows of empty chairs.
8:45 p.m.
Bookstore owner wants to go home early.
He turns out the lights.
Bookstore owner, poet and host leave the store.
Once outside, the host promises the poet
a ten-minute minifeature on another night
when a popular poet is booked for a regular feature.
Poet swallows pride and agrees.
9:00 p.m.
Poet sits in his parked car.
He's aware that it's not a level playing field.
But he wonders if, someday,
the poetry community will want to hear him
read his work for longer than ten minutes.
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