Revised poem LITTLE STEVIE 2.0

LITTLE STEVIE 2.0

Little Stevie just ran over me
with his Hyundai.
Again.

I admired Little Stevie’s earlier poetry
which contained equal parts humor and insight.

I told Little Stevie of my admiration for his work.
Maybe we could be colleagues and/or friends.

Little Stevie responded politely
but he hoped the needy man would Just Go Away.

As the years went by,
I would cringe when Little Stevie
never took a stand
and was eager to defend the
exalted Status Quo of poetry
when they were much more rude and hurtful
to other poets than I’ll ever be.

Little Stevie stayed in control
(control is a big thing with him)
and continued to pray for me to go away.

Once in awhile, Little Stevie would take an interest
in me-but only when I was contrite
or asked him about his idols
Wendy O. Williams, John Cale and Barry Gifford
or if I wrote a poem
that sounded like a poem other poets would write.

Then, I’d ask onstage why Little Stevie would pose for
an expensive vanity photo.
And I’d seethe when he was smirky and flip
towards other poets he considered
maladjusted undertalented vessels of discontent.

But at the same time, I’d be awake at night asking my wife
“What could I do to make Little Stevie respect me?”

And my wife would tell me:
“He doesn’t seem to let too many people get close to him.
Besides, you shouldn’t be surprised
when people aren’t happy to be on the other end
of your critical remarks.”

Once in awhile, there would be a sort of détente
where I’d sincerely wish him well
and he’d seem genuinely happy
and say something sincere to me.

But I couldn’t stop being critical of certain poets.

And he couldn’t stop being maitre'd
to the vanities of the Status Quo
who rarely bothered to attend his weekly reading.

To top it off, Little Stevie’s poetry became less amusing
and interesting than it was in past years.
He decided to coast on his laurels

and milk his winning formula too often.

When I pointed it out,
Little Stevie flew into a controlled rage
and said there was Nothing Wrong
with his poetry.

And, true to his form, he said
he never wanted to see
or hear from me again-
but it was my choice
as to whether or not to comply with his wish.

(This reminded me of the division supervisor
giving a choice between
writing a letter of resignation or
outright termination. )

Little Stevie spent months
telling stories about how he tried
to Help me and all I did in return was
to be irreverent, ungrateful and abusive to him
and his highly talented friends.

Little Stevie sent me a brief e-mail.

He ended it with:
"Anything you say to me now is worthless”.

I made an attempt to apologize For Good
to Little Stevie one night.
He motioned for the venue bouncer.

The bouncer threw me onto the street.

Then Little Stevie got into his Hyundai,
gunned the motor
and
stomped hard on the accelerator.

Little Stevie hates me.
Again.
And it looks like it will never end.