Revised Older Poem: CARNIVAL

Poem originally written circa 2004 about 1999-2001.  Trimmed slightly from the earlier version--still a subjective (and opinionated) take on a bygone era in Southern California poetry.

CARNIVAL

ONE

In a cafe's back room filled with 50 people,

the Host takes the stage.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME POETRY?

he calls out.

The audience applauds.

In the prestigious first half, there’s a mixture of storytelling,

slam poetry and political sloganeering.

Applause is a guarantee if you read a poem with

the phrase “Free Mumia”.

The Host occasionally contributes topical verse

or personal reminiscence.

When the Host is through with a poem,

he tosses it to the stage floor with a flourish.

The audience-mostly poets-

either listen with rapt attention

or scribble spontaneous verse

into their notebooks

in hopes that they can surpass

what they’re hearing

when it’s their turn on-mike.

Then the Host shouts

IT’S FEATURE TIME!

The features are either well-known poets from the city

(occasionally touring bards from out-of-state)

or  the Lucky Few the Host chooses to groom.

Most of those Lucky Few tend to either be female

or share the Host’s political views.

The feature reads for twenty to twenty-five minutes.

Then the Host passes the hat

to ensure the feature gets paid for his/her work.

During intermission, some audience members leave.

A few people buy chapbooks from the feature.

Other poets head out front to pay homage to certain

Important people who host at venues in or outside the city.

TWO

The remainder of the audience returns.

The Co-Host takes over

since the Host has gone home

to work on a poetry project of his own.

Halfway through the second half,

it’s my turn to read a poem.

I read a poem about office life.

It gets laughter and applause.

One time, a poet close to the Host

tells me I’m good and worthy of a feature.

He says he’ll put in a kind word for me.

I never hear anything from the Host.

I say “Hello” when I see him.

And I know he’s heard my work.

Perhaps I’m not reverent enough towards him.

Or maybe I need to quit being funny

and write a poem with the phrase “Free Mumia”.

At 11:30 p.m., the last poet reads.

The night is over.

I give a poet favored by the Host a ride home.

During the ride, the poet nervously hopes

the Host will write a blurb for the poet’s

new chapbook.

And, against my better instincts, I tell the poet

I’m willing to write an e-mail to the Host

on his behalf.

The Host’s Tuesday night reading is the hottest

place to be in the City’s Poetry Community.

And I do want to be a part of it-

even if I’m never asked to read in the first half.