Monday, February 24, 2014

John Oughton


Audience stared into the open mouth
of the poet who stood, saying nothing.
She waited five minutes --
open-mic time, --then closed.

Someone muttered “John Cage rip-off.”
“No way” another said, “that was music,
not performance poetry.”
“What’s her message?”
“A complete waste of time.”

Babbling rose until the poet
retook the stage and said:
“The poem is whatever whipped
through your mind: What’s she doing?
When will this be done?  I want to
check my texts. Who does she think
she is? Will I ever
get laid?’

are the poem. 

All I did
was let you hear your part.”

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