Poem by RELEE: The Beat Poets Come to the Nifty Theater

The Beat Poets
Come to the Nifty Theater

I    roll on        to the stage. Here I am.
I    strive for my     place   .Seek           out
the   podium. Here I    am. I roll on
to the     stage.    I am    in veterate. I am
good.      I am     great.   I roll out to the
audience.     I stuff     khaki    T- shirt
in    to my   pants. I hold   on   to my
mystic prayer      beads.     I am    here. To
read.     To im      press.    Sing.     They will
know     joy.    Be     at i     tude.    They
will   explode   with it.     Burst     with it.
I     hold a manuscript       in my      right
hand.    I have poems    by the dozen.    I will
do the     trick.    Set them    on fire. My
arm     pits    are wet.     I glisten     with
nerve. I    seek out   the podium.     I am
going     to read.    I am    going to     explode
with    wrath.    I am     going to      spill
over    with     truth.    I roll on      to
the stage.    The house lights dim.    Go
down.     Go    out.    I am coming on    stage.
I walk heavy.    And   slow.    I have   worry
beads   by the   dozen.      And my poems.
All I      have   to give are my    poems.
And    a brown   cap stuck    on top of my
head.    I    roll on     to the stage.
Move   up to the podium.   Place my poems
down . Shuffle them   about.     Flatten them.
I twirl my    worry beads. My sweat glistens.
I   straighten     my poems.    I am     going
to read.    I    am going to lay open   my    soul.
I am    going    to lay open    their hypocrisy.
I am    going to     let them in on a secret.
I am    in hiking    boots.    I am   going to
walk    all over them.    I come    clomping
to the    podium.   I take a     firm   hold
on my        worry    beads.       They are going
to   listen.    The house     lights     go
down.      Are dimmed.     I am    in the
center     now.    The     spot      finds me.
I shuffle    through     my   poems. Flatten
them.    Tuck       my T-shirt     inside
my pants.    Straighten     my cap.
I pat    my poems.    Make a joke of     beer.
I am          ready to    begin. Here I     go.I
will have    them    eating out    of
my worry    beads.    The     lights are off.
They   pat my      stomach.        They   laugh
at beer.      I      doff my cap.     I
blush.I bow.I            stamm     er   .
I     be     -gin          .