Look man,
the local hero said,
these poets...
fuckin’...
Hughes, Thom Gunn,
and Eliot,
he stopped
to lift his beer up
like Bukowski did,
they’re so damn...
academic, man,
it bores me stiff.
There ain’t no grit,
no energy,
no balls.
There’s just a...
nothingness.
Who needs
their fuckin’
shit techniques.
I know you like them.
I don’t.
I want...
SLAM
his flat palm
struck the table
...that.
I want
a thunderbolt.
When his name was called,
he sauntered to the mic,
his papers in his hands.
His poems were as old hat
as his ideas,
and the crowd went wild.
Bruce Hodder - Northhampton, Northamptonshire