Not Going To Cleveland

I take off my jacket, it’s been a warm day and the heat has followed me into the house. I should be already on my way to Cleveland to a poetry slam, I did promise half-heartedly, but slamming poets means a headache after a long drive. There’s lead and gun smoke on my fingers. should have washed them at the range, but the fat-wise owner wanted to about all the paperwork he has to do now. He has a young feller who does all the inventory and selling, he on the other hand, just sits on a stool all day. Sometimes he will stroke his grey bead and fart, but mostly he just sits; He could be a poet. Poetry is an art-form. It’s good to keep reminding myself of that, otherwise I might get the idea that it’s just about complaining, ing about things most poets don’t understand, like life in general, guns and of course poetry.