two hours in bad weather
to go
hear the famous
poet speak
and read his poems.
many that we know by heart.
we have his books
on our
shelf, on the floor,
or near
the bathtub,
a few
in the car when traffic
stalls.
dogeared
and worn,
pages torn.
coffee stains on the cover.
we each
have our favorites.
and then
the announcement is made
as the room
fills, and settles in,
removing coats
and hats,
woolen scarves.
he wont
make it tonight.
he's ill.
quickly i take out my notebook,
there's a new poem in here
somewhere.
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