He gets up in front of everyone with his beard
that hasn’t been shaved in 6 months and explains
that he’s—personally—more biased in favor of British theatre.
A blonde girl in the front row laughs,
even though there’s no way
anything he just said could possibly be considered funny.
And then he goes off and talks
about Chekhov and naturalism
for 45 minutes
and the blonde girl in the front row
keeps laughing at him
like she’s going to blow him during our ten minute break
and the visiting playwright wears a navy blue t-shirt
with a vest and a scarf over it
while he is spewing all of these priceless thoughts,
until the scarf starts to slip off of his shoulder on one side
very slowly, while using terms like “powerful” and “heartbreaker”
to describe the character Blanche from the play Streetcar Named Desire.
This is the first of a series of poems by Leo Abbe.