That awkward moment when I wasn't allowed to talk about June Melby.

June Melby doesn't live in Southern California these days (as far as I am aware of), but she's a popular performance poet who has been known to make use of humor and props when on-mic.

Nearly two years ago, I went to the Redondo Poets reading at Coffee Cartel in Redondo Beach CA.

Sidebar: Years before, I had (after a long time of being a sort of regular and occasional feature) ruptured the good relationship I had with the reading's hosts by becoming upset on-mic and during the break with a then-Renowned Poet who now lives in another country.  I apologized to both hosts.

A few months later, I was reading in the open and following a poet who threw her pages on the floor in dramatic flourishes after finishing her works.  When I stepped up, I started to make a joke (in what I intended as good nature) comparing her to another Renowned Poet who now lives in the Southeastern part of the U.S.

One of the Coffee Cartel hosts,  fearing I would say something offensive, shut the microphone off.  After the host and I expressed unhappiness with each other (plus the host starting to come towards me in a manner befitting Popeye confronting Bluto), I departed.

During the months between my offense and the host's overreaction, I was well-behaved when at Coffee Cartel.  I'd read my poems and sit down.  And I'd cordially visit with friends/acquaintances.

But I sinned once, and that was more than enough.

Now, back to the June Melby story:
This was an all open-mic night at Coffee Cartel, which in this case meant that no regulars were present.  Several people I didn't really know were participants.

Only one of the two hosts presided over the evening--not the one who turned off the mic.

The host was discussing upcoming features--and June was to be there the following week.

So, the host, recognizing me, asked me to say a few words about her.

I started to speak, saying nothing that could be considered out of line,

But the host must have feared I'd be uncouth--so he cut me off fast.

At least this time, no microphone was turned off since I was speaking from the other side of the room.

Later that night, I left Coffee Cartel, "as quiet as a mouse."

And I have never returned.