Author Information
At The Exclusive Poetry Class
Almost four years I waited patiently
to be invited to the poetry
class (with my best friend; sorority
girls), and the geek who had a crush on me.
For the Visiting Poet series,
they brought in Nemerov first;
who spoke of getting drunk in a motel
the night before his visit, and then listening
to the sounds of love in the next room.
While he talked, I noticed how grass-stained
my bare feet were, and how my bell-bottoms
almost (but not quite) hid them from the geek's view.
Next they brought in Bly,
for whose reading we were compelled
to purchase a ticket. He entered
the auditorium, took off his shoes,
and played his dulcimer for almost an hour
before he even bothered to speak a word.
I had left my shoes behind in my room,
and had worn a really nice pair of dress slacks.
My trouser socks were navy blue.
Even in the dim light there,
I could feel the geek's ardent gaze on my socks.
I shifted a bit, to facilitate his effort.
I defied the sorority and began to love the geek.
I defied our teacher and began to speak
of his many poems that she had too harshly judged.
On the last day of class, with "open mike,"
I read the poem of desire he had written for me.
I wore a mini-dress and pantyhose
(sheer, tan, with reinforcements at the toes);
and, as you might expect now, no shoes.
My poet prefers to have an unshod Muse.
Starward
[jlc
