The Reading (Poetry)

They have come to see the poet
they have come to pick his brains
to ponder on the blood and flesh
and sticky understains

They want to know he’s mortal
and not some kind of god
downloaded through some portal
good-word-spreading blog to blog

The audience sits patient
although he’s clearly late
then a man walks in in flip-flops
which might smack of a mistake

since he stands before them naked
with a notebook in his hand
firing verses off at random
too obscure to understand

No one moves. They simply sit there
mesmerized — quite overcome
for an hour. Then there’s silence
telling them that he is done

***

A thoughtful crowd dispersing homewards
nodding sagely — all agreed
it has been an awesome evening
future booksales guaranteed