|
Featured Reader before/after I walked into the coffee shop and everyone stopped talking. Leonard Cohen blared through the speakers oppressively. It felt like a funeral home visitation. And I was the Featured Reader of the poetry reading. Had my navy blue pimp coat, lined with fake navy blue short fur that extended to the collar. Black pants with a bit of a flare, black and white leather sketchers, and a light yellow with subtle stripes polyester out of the seventies shirt. I'd been saving it for a special occasion. And this was it. Or was it? I was walking into a dirge. The audience eyed me warily. I was a little late, but who comes on time to a poetry reading? On time bohemians should be shot along with old hippies. Unfortunately, this was the majority of my listeners. It was a comparatively light crowd. The MC was nervous. I bought a cup of coffee from coffeeshop girl, who wears no bra, when Audrey came in. "Sorry I'm late." she apologized. Well, you're not missing much. People eyed me all around. I moved easily but with purpose. A couple sat in the back, looking like they came for the reading, not taking their eyes off of me. I looked at them. "Hi." I said. The girl smiled pertly. "Hi." they both said. I got my guitar set up and made ready to play. I know a lot of songs, but was expecting a younger crowd. So in the intervening weeks I had learned "My Name Is" by Eminem, "What I Got" by Sublime and "Gin and Juice" by the snoop d-oh-double-g. And this so was not the crowd for whom to play these songs. But I figured, what the fuck. You only live once. You have to dodge the train everyonce in a while to see the light. Keeps the heart going or whatever. So I started a little shuffle, and then went straight into "Gin and Juice". I think I sang pretty well. I slipped into a meledy of Gin and Juice, What I Got, and I Walk The Line, by Johnny Cash, sneaking peaks at Audrey and watching her smile and look at the floor. There was a child there, running around. It made me feel odd about singing gin and juice. I finished and they applauded. Then some other readers got up and droned on and on. The type of poetry and reading that makes for mind wandering, day dreaming and sleep. Apparently a lot of them were there to see an old guy read. A guy who's read before, in his eighties, an old beatnick, or supposedly so. Wears a beret with purposely paint stained pants. Like its his beatnick costume to go read poems to a crowd that doesnt listen to him anyway. "Yeah," the MC said to me indicating the old man,"He used to be in california when kerouac and all of them were forming their scene. He might have KNOWN some of them." He spoke of reverential awe of the man's link to history. Which, maybe if he was there the night "Howl"was read, maybe that was something. I dont know. The old man sits down to read and needed help adjusting the mic. His first poem began bombastically, "I DIDNT KNOW...KEROUAC. I NEVER...MET...HIM." and I tuned right out. Eventually I got up to read. I think I did well, trying to entertain and enlighten. I read my arc of poems about social work. Then I started in on sex poems. All the times I said fuck, or talked about cum, I looked and saw the kid who was otherwise wrangling around, would then be the only times the little bastard sat still to listen. I tried sarcasm. "This next one, seeing as its almost Valentine's Day, maybe I should read a poem about love." The audience near the old man seemed to sigh a bit. Yes. They wanted love poems. How nice. "This one is called : Getting Picked Up By The Waitress" Which was about getting picked up by a waitress, fucking, and ending the pseudo relationship weeks later by ignoring her psychotic wendsday night (I can never fucking spell wendsday) 2 am phone calls. Then again, maybe I was playing too much to the crowd. Anyway, as I got deeper into the sex poems, I got a bit more concious of the child in the room, so I ended it a bit early. Nothing too lacivious for those ears, someone else will be responsible for her despoilation. And as I moved to sit, I greeted and spoke with some people. The violinist wanted a copy of a poem and I gave it to him. And he gave me some of his to read. And the couple that I said 'hi' to at the beginning walked up to my table. "Hi." she said,"I'm Kat." And I said 'hi'. Always people come up to me in this shop and start rapping away. "You sent me a flyer? I'm a Kat that you know. " she said. And I was thunderstruck. Absolutely speechless. It was tenderpoison. She nominally lives in Edmonton. What the fuck? "Im speechless," I said repetitively. Because Im not often lost for words so much as I keep my thoughts to myself. But I had no recourse as any sort of discorse failed me. Edmonton. What the fuck? "We were at my In-Laws in Marquette and wanted to get away." she explained. She seemed earnest, although a little afraid, like a little girl that was scared or worried somewhere inside of her. Like she needed an excuse to be here other than to see me. Like she was afraid of some sort of rejection or bad reaction on my part. Like Im going to bitch out one of my few friends who ACTUALLY showed. Marquette is still quite a ways away. Hundreds of miles. She must have really wanted to get away from the in laws. She was so nice, and it was one of the nicest things that anyone has done for me in a long, long time. She radiated nice girl. So I took her and her husband on a circuitous route to a dive bar. Jims. They had beers, Audrey had mixed drinks and was quiet because, well, Audrey is always quiet. And I think a good time was had by all. Nothing strange happened at Jims. We parted ways and I gave her a couple of hugs, admonishing her gentle husband to take care of her. He seemed like a nice fellow, and I thought it was really cool that he didnt get jealous or possessive as Ive seen some men do. And I took Audrey out to a place where I got high many a time. A deer veiwing area, where locals feed the deer who live on a large section of property owned by the regional power plant. We parked and she blew me. As I came in her mouth I said, "Ahhh, its good to be the Featured Reader"
|
