POETRY HOST’S LAMENT
The first open reader of the night
was a man reading a single poem.
Unfortunately, he didn’t hear the alarm
that signaled that his six minutes were up.
The poet continued to read.
I got up from my seat
and moved towards the podium.
The poet said:
“I’m sorry but I can’t stop now.
This poem needs to be read in its entirety
for its impact to be felt.”
I asked:
“How much longer is this poem?”
The poet said:
“Another ten minutes.”
I responded:
“Well, you can come back next week
and read the next six minutes of your poem.”
The poet said in a loud, angry voice:
“THIS IS AMERICA
FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION!”
At this point, I motioned for my co-host to join me.
We grabbed the poet by each arm and walked him
out of the room.
“You [expletives deleted]!” screamed the poet
as he was politely but firmly escorted
out the front door.
When I returned to the podium, I said:
“Some people only want to hear themselves.”
Someday, I hope to find a venue that will pay me
for being a poetry host.
Someday, maybe pigs will fly.
