9326. ASSORTMENT

ASSORTMENT

Red candy butter in Macadamia swirl,

sold in the aisle between acts. I took 

one; they were cheap. Not bad, but

gotta' like sweets.  The flashlight guy

was watching me, so I waved him over.

'That's my sister,' I said, 'her name is

 Clover.' Then I had to tell him I didn't

'take' that, she'd given to me and would

square up later. He agreed, but took it

as a grudge  -  'I'm not your mat to master,'

I said. He talked right back, 'Neither am I

yours.' Wow, I thought, a really intelligent

usher. So, for the moment I was safe.

-

It little mattered, because the lights went

out again and the thing started playing 

once more. Live stuff, up on stage  -  a

sort of musical number inside a dramatic

recital. I kind of liked it. I was entitled,

being a candy thief and all.

-

They'd asked me in to do a reading, in about

a half-hour, between acts or something,

while they changed the sets and the lighting.

'That's all good,' I replied, 'but you know I

can't read in the dark.' The booking guy

laughed, 'Of course, we don't expect you

to. It won't be your lights affected.' He

laughed again, so I said, 'Are you making

light of me?' He didn't quite get it.

-

Actually I like reading before  -  meaning

in front of, not 'before' as time  -  audiences

and such, filling up rooms with people. It

only takes a minute and I click right in,

having rapt people, wrapped around my

finger, listening to every word. It's a great

feeling. A regular public oracle, that's me.

-

You'd be surprised; I don't look like much

but there's a strange power to the voice and 

the stuff reads really well. No, I'm not

bragging, though I daresay you've not heard

anything like it before -   not that crap-rabble

beanpole ghetto-jump they call 'poetry' now.

The wailers and the angry race-screamers,

women or transvestites, or whatever that

stuff's called these days,

-

Then, on the other extreme, you've got

regular poetry types  -  the broken-hearts,

the sad and only, or the sad and the lonely;

the ones writing about sky and flowers

and the pale yellow moon. That's not me 

either. I can hold the room to your attention 

and make you wonder. I can split your hair 

with an heirloom comb. I can make you hear

 words you've never ever heard before.

A real assortment, if you ask me.