Slam poetry event—a special one—
it started early evening
instead of after 9
in a coffee house near Old Town
instead of in a bar.
Full the more than twenty tables
also busy at the counter
with diversity that made me glad
in an evening misty rain made humid
and the press of people palpable.
And full of sound—
the poetry recited and the singing with guitar
the rise and fall of conversation
tinkling of the flatware on the plates and cups
machines that made the lattes and espressos.
And aromas with it all—
the heady scent of rain
and bodies—perspiration and perfumes—
and coffee sharp and tangy
in the thickened atmosphere.
the voices amplified, the voices not—
my focus flitting
nearer further nearer
sound to sight to smell to sound again…
And then the drive back home alone—
the windows down to feel the cool
the watercolor splashes on the blacktop
and the soothing “sssss” of tires
on the rainy pavement as I climbed.
Leave a Reply