So I have been dragooned into attending a poetry reading in the park.
In this specific case the poetry is written and read by my son's Kindergarden class. The little tykes have been working on poems all spring in special poetry journals. I'm not sure of the park connection, other than that children like parks and don't particularly like smoky coffee houses or dorm lounges that smell like vomit and patchouli.
Anyway, I have definite mixed feelings about this. It's been a long time since I've been to a poetry reading. During the time during which I occasionally went to one, it was inevitably with non-poetic goals in mind, or at least, goals susceptible to being described in, at most, a limerick. In short, I'm going to feel cheated if I don't at least get a hand job out of it. I'm married now, of course, and I'm not quite sure how to bring that up with the wife. At least I think I can count on the absence of people in unwashed black turtlenecks, fingers snapping as a substitute for applause, or narrative voices that make James Joyce sound as on-topic as a Krupp blender manual.
Still, I am formulating strategies to cut the thing short. The last time I attended a kindergarten outing in this particular park was in approximately 1975. I managed to inflict a head injury on myself that bled so profusely that five classmates had hysterics and a room mother fainted. I'm not saying I will do it again, but it's not off the table.
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