Chairs in regimented curves
pay attention to the lectern’s vacuum.
One by one at four we arrive,
choosing our chairs. Comfortable,
after an introduction,
the reading begins.
I listen, but do not watch as others do,
I watch the room.
A mix of people, old and new,
focus intently on
what there is to say. A poem
ends. The first to be shared.
A breath of closure issues
from everyone, and the poet.
Aahhh.
A new poem seamlessly
begins on the same topic. Men
and what it means to be a Man
in the world.
Another breath closes
another poem. Aahhh – just as before.
A new poet seamlessly
attends the recently vacated lectern.
One by one she articulates
morbid poems to rows
upon rows
of comfortable chairs.
Again that sound. That aahhh
swells from one side of the room
to the other.
It is the sound of sleep; a lullaby
for each poem as it ends and is put to bed.
Hushed applause echoes
around the room, swelling
just like our content
night-song chorus of aahhh.
Thank you for coming,
no, thank you for sharing.
Aahhh.
