(c) 2007 by Howard Dart Humeston
I said come with me
Thursday night
to the poetry reading
and
she says
poultry reading?
what the hell is that!
and I says
your brain is drifting
south again Vickie
I said
poetry reading like Keats
and Browning and Frost and
she says
laughing so hard she spewed
her cafe mocha
I’ll rather go to a
poultry reading
so I pictured some gypsy lady
with a red and yellow
scarf around her
sweaty head holding
a clucking chicken
in both palms squinting
mystically
telling fortunes and I turned to
her laughing too and said
you’re right Vickie,
but for that we’ll have to go
to Miami.