and since I haven't been on a stage since last September
(and need the practice for the NYC Poetry Fest) I agreed,
but that was weeks ago and when the day finally rolled around,
Charlie bailed on me and the sky looked like rain,
so I was hesitant to the whole adventure.
Once there, I was happy to be amongst the cliches
of this particular subculture again:
the slam poet, the girl and her crystals,
the dude who talks to long and then reads a rhyming poem
about his best friend who apparently died yesterday.
I stood in the back, kept my sunglasses on, and soaked it all in,
until my name was called and I had to read my "intentional" poem
about cake (!) prefacing it with the news that I had just finished chemo
two weeks ago and this was my first time on stage since LA.
Pacing on the stage that wasn't a stage at all
but just a corner in a vegan cafe in a nondescript strip of shops,
I read my poem about how I pace while eating cake,
and then another poem about being accosted
by a MAGA fag for wearing a mask.
After the show, Enid and I ate vegan cupcakes
and gossiped in the back about Sam's abortion,
and the other readers, some of whom came by to say hi,
but one called me a survivor and I had to stop her,
because I am not ready to be a "survivor" especially
since I had barely begin building my life back.
Hell, I still have my port in!
No matter how hard it was, I don't want this to define me
(I will never add 'Cancer Survivor' to my IG bio),
but rather I am just a proud poor poet and a dumb doting dad.
That is my alliterative legacy, and turns out
the dude who read rhyming poems
about his dead best friend...well, turns out it was his dog!