"Come on down", you cried to me-
"you must hear, and you must see",
and promised in your dulcet way
no matter what else happened today
the flights of fancy in the poetry
would be free...And so they were. But why
No mention
Of the celebration of garlic,
Of the sixteen miles of backed-up traffic,
Of the overwhelming tide of humanity
And the fancy-free feeling of insanity
When we drank the wine
And laughed like the little girls we once were? --
Before we tried to read our poetry. No wonder
They laughed too.
At last I could understand the why...
You'd heard me say
I hated the crowds, except when I
Was above them. And so you placed me
On your stage of cupped and cracking wooden boards
Tossed me some inspiration
And let me sink or swim. Well, Ebonie, you saw,
I swim. And I always did like the smell of garlic...
©2002 Mary Barnett |
