went to see the poetry bully at the anthology reading
not necessarily to see him but a few others on the bill
as have we all, he has aged a bit
now he looks like a backup musician for The Black Keys
instead of the vibrant slam artist/tastemaker of yore
I still remember him cybercalling me witless friendless talentless turd
because I took issue with his basement literary circle jerk
intended only for him and his coterie of special friends
>
so he read his contribution to the poetry anthology
some write bloody nonsense about him with a woman
I looked in vain for the bookstore cat
figured out he might be in the upstairs office
so his feline responses wouldn’t throw the poetry bully off-stride
>
listened to the poets after bullyman—most were better
but I recall the rifle butt to my self esteem
oh I tore the powerful bully’s tissue paper feelings
and he never even met me (or, likely, bothered with my poems)
just decided to give the stink eye
to fall in line with others who needed him
but I persevere decades later
>
don’t want him ever again being the arbiter of me
damn sure don’t want him at my funeral
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