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Poetry Reading before/after And then I got home on wednsday and checked my email to find that the poetry reading was that night. So I grabbed a couple of guitars, put on a leather coat over my black "I learned from lesbians" t-shirt, and went to the coffee shop. The place was packed. I sat with the regulars after chatting with the coffeshop girl. Evidentally it was double booked with a gay/bi/lesbian sort of meeting. If I had known, I would have worn another shirt. I started playing during sound check while the featured reader spoke into the mic. She had nice tits. She was reading Hamlet for the sound check. I asked her to read either 'to be or not to be' or the 'too too solid flesh' soliloquoy while I played, but she ignored me. That pissed me off a bit. I played some more and sat back with the regulars. I kicked off the poetry reading for some reason, reading a tepid little poem I wrote not too long ago. What the hell, dredging up all the black can get tiresome, too. But its all people ever want to hear. And then I played guitar to accompany a local art teacher while he read one of his peices about doing drugs. Periodically he would stop the reading and put the mic down by my guitar to pick up my sound and provide more of a counter point. We finished to applause, even from the homosexuals who were trying to ignore the poets, because the teacher was a very effective reader. Some others got up and read. The featured reader got up and read. I watched her husband as she read a peice about what sounded like her fucking an old convict of a boyfriend, and scratching her nails on his back. Cuddling later with him, hearing him describe the sounds at night in a prison as men get raped for the first time, and then cry like babies. That was neat imagery, although, hate to say it, she stole it from someone else like a leach. The night wore on. A couple of the shop regulars got up and read as the gays filtered away from the front. Then the art teacher and I jammed, me on twelve string and he on the piano, and it sounded all right. At the end of it, he got up and shook my hand. "Always a good time, bro." he said. "Yeah, right on." I said, smiling. "Always a good time." "I think this place brings out the best in the both of us." he said in his raspy voice. I agreed, but said nothing. I still haven't had what I would consider a spectacular moment there. A lot of good moments, sure. But nothing truly transcendant. And that's what I want, that's what I need. I packed up my guitars and got ready to go. The coffeeshop girl looked at me. "You're going to get tired of hearing me." I said to her. "You gettin' outta' here?" she asked. I nodded, and she cleaved a path through the crowd, opening the door for me. My eyes followed her as she walked, her little bubble butt ass twitching seductively from side to side. And I walked out into the night. Later on, I met some of them, including the featured reader and her erstwhile husband (it wont last), at the bar, Jim's. The waitress was very nice, affectionate towards me, moving my coat close to me when some delinquents entered the bar. Petting my head at one point, although I'm not sure why. She made me try to call Rob. "Call your friend." she ordered, handing me fifty cents. "Why, are you horny?" I asked, a question that seemed to fall by the wayside. So I called, no answer. I sat back down at the table. "This is my friend jay," the barmaid said,"He's really nice, so be good to him." "Y'all have been told." I said. And the rest of the night plodded along. They gossiped about local academics, which really means nothing to me. The halls of academia truly fall far from here. And they condescended to me, which bothered me some, but truthfully, its like being scorned by people who are dipped in shit, and have no idea they're dipped in shit. The sadness is that they truly don't see how pathetic their actions are, as they try to assemble some sort of dignity precariously placed on the backs of those they scorn. I just figured they needed to see some more of the world, or become more secure in their situation. I don't know what kind of money they had, but real money and real poor behavior with more distinction, treat people they don't know better than these. And at the end of the night, I went home to my cat, who peered at me out of the dark with green eyes, picking him up, hearing him purr loudly, proudly. And thats all that really matters sometimes, anyway.
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