By: Carl Papa Palmer

she won’t read first
or last
or read after this poet
or before that one

informs our hostess
where to list her
most often number four

when called to read
acts surprised
gathers her papers
takes her time
to the podium

at the podium
sorts through papers
finds her poem
locates her glasses

taps the mic
tells us about her poem
her inspiration
her process

performs her epic poem
two pages past
the one page limit
touches each syllable
in iambic pentameter

her hand a conductor’s baton
draws us through each stanza
ends with our polite applause

asks if she has time for one more
as our hostess rushes up with a hug
to escort her from the podium
while we watch her leave as always
not waiting for the next poet to read