Exposed by the harsh beams of raftered spotlights

Made for an uncomfortable entrance

As I stepped into the easiness of this precious haven

Poets often call home base

Alone was I that first night

But immediately blessed by an aura

So rich with kinship and tradition

I felt as if I’d been swallowed up

By a mouthful of light

Someone managerial looking shook my hand

Before I tried and failed to escape the smoke

Then something full circle happened

The featured poet was introduced

While a rush of turnabout

Invaded my sense of balance

For his home base had been the very place

I’d first said my stuff

In my own home town

I’d bombed

(As did he this night)

With an average score of five or six

‘Slammed’ by a foul mouthed nymphomaniac

Who’d brought friends

To vote her an imperfect ten

But that was way back then

John Christopher

February 28 1995