Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Poetry Fusillade, pt 21: The Speech
Thirty-two people of means
Wait at the Hyatt, meeting room B
Rustling papers
Bits of laughter-
They are waiting for me.
Outside the door
I look down quickly
Blue ink/white shirt:
The pen explosion.
I snatch out the pen
And curse it harshly
The damage complete,
But eas'ly concealed.
Yet,
How rare are the humbled?
I take off the jacket
And walk through the door.
Wait at the Hyatt, meeting room B
Rustling papers
Bits of laughter-
They are waiting for me.
Outside the door
I look down quickly
Blue ink/white shirt:
The pen explosion.
I snatch out the pen
And curse it harshly
The damage complete,
But eas'ly concealed.
Yet,
How rare are the humbled?
I take off the jacket
And walk through the door.
