Yesterday evening made my third appearance at the local Barnes & Noble poetry "slam." There were only four or five people to read. I fell from second place scores to penultimate disgrace. Here are my two "morceaux":
Flecks of indignation pepper speech.
Kernels of sarcasm direct conversation waste.
The thrown away spoken word becomes moldering vegetable peel.
Words need growth and time to age and ripen, to reach maturity, to arrive on point, to be apropos or not at all.
Much like beer, wine, cheese or chocolate, words require proper preparation and degustation.
When carefully handcrafted, the well chosen "bon mot" has savor, balance, delicacy and weight.
The empty calories of slander and vulgarity and the saucy satisfaction of the quick retort sate only temporarily but are the fast food followed by guilt and more hunger, leaving the unpalatable aftertaste of wanted wit and questionable character.
Plagiarism becomes the store-bought pie that "tastes just like mom's" but its obvious occlusion of source and recipe disgruntles the guest and makes the dish indigestible.
Relax to dine slowly on words to take pleasure in succulent syllables that in a perfect moment give compliment to comestible conversation.
a toothbrush with blue and white bristles dropped beside a speed bump
a napkin from Arby's coated in decomposing grease turning it translucent
a losing lottery ticket from a scratch game, instant fun discarded beneath an azalea
a gold-tipped cigarette butt with maybe 30 seconds of tobacco left to smoke
a brown beer bottle, glass shards blending into pine straw
a plastic blue cap from a long lost bottle of spring water
a rubber ball for playing catch, soft molded to resemble a Major League hardball
a Coke can suspended in a shrub like a forgotten Christmas ornament dangling in early spring evergreen
a jumbo paper clip unfolded like a key or tool tossed to the ground after momentary use
a flattened watch battery deceptively reflective like an abandoned nickel
a silver label from a bottle of vodka, crushed on the pavement in an empty parking space