Open Mic

I was just on stage. Oh. Wait. It was just my fertile imagination, running away with me. I was really just on an old wooden floor with a microphone and a stand I never used. But that’s okay.

And this man stood up after I sat down. He took my position behind that mic stand, but he filled the space differently because he is different. Not just shorter and flatter, but different also in time and voice. Which is okay.

The endless line of poets sallies forth between drinking their cups of coffee and tea, while looking both annoyed and overjoyed. We poets have this uncanny way of achieving irony naturally.

And this hot chocolate is really good as it slides down my throat. I almost forget that it cost me three dollars for this mug, but just almost. I know I’m really just paying for the ambiance, and that’s okay.

I’m just glad to be a part of it.

Sam