Poetry Slam
If a car engine
were made up of
a thousand
hummingbirds and
misfired
it would make the
same sound
as the crowd did
while waiting for
the poets
to take the stage.
The room was
drenched by the mixing
scents of beer
coffee and wine and
I’m not sure who
ordered the cinnamon
toast but
the barista was
burning that shit.
I sat there
almost expressionless
smiling occasionally
when the beauty
beside me
glanced my way
who looked to be
somewhere between
nineteen and twenty-two
It’s difficult to say
nowadays
because they just didn’t
build them that way
when I was a kid.
The first poet
took the stage and
began reciting
a poem about his
grandmother and
excessive erections.
The applause came
the poet went
everyone clapped
that was overall
the routine
for the rest of the
night at the local
poetry slam.
Copyright © 2012 – Bobby Travis
