So poetry night sucked.
The star wanted to discuss her genitalia.
I recited a poem about extinction.
She talked about masturbation and drugs and Jagermeister
And I about sea turtles and red tide—
Evidently hers and mine are different.
After twenty minutes she won
The audience loved the word clit
More than endangered species act
Or the fact that an orca pushes her dead calf
Around Victoria, her grieving palpable
And how we all worried for her survival
And still worry
Yet how did that fare against orgasms and inward involvement?
I sit alone, while the perseids shoot spheres of light across the sky
The lapping of the tidal river a reminder, a repetition
Of all that’s gone before
From which we have not learned.