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The following can also be found in the book Chicago Stories 1996. Click here to learn more, and to download a free electronic copy.

Last week I was brought
to a big open mike
it was like a field trip to me
one I did like

I said, “They can do it!
So why not ol’ me?
I’ll dazzle with poetry.”
And the best part... it’s free.

The first thing you’ll notice
is everything must rhyme.
The second thing you’ll notice
is that I have no real good sense of time

ing, or rhythm,
or meter -- what’s that?
I’m a poet! I’ve got a story!
About growing up fat.

Now here’s the required part
where I bitch about my ex.
And here, quite appropriately,
is when I lament the sex.

(in a sing-song voice)
And here’s where I speak
like that one guy that was cool.
I don’t know why he does it
but I feel I must, too.

And here’s where I’m symbolic
with quite a dreadful prose
that I learned from Dungeons and Dragons
when I was fourteen years old.

And here’s where the crowd loves me
when I yell the word “Fuck!”
Everybody ready?
Okay... FUCK!

And here’s where I champion
a lost cause, like the Dubliners,
and here’s where I bitch
about those bastard Republicaners.

And here, I guess, I should bitch
about another open mike,
while championing another
that’s closed and out of sight.

Oh, and no poem would be complete
without a misogynist slur
about a hooker I slept with
in a big, drunken blur.

So that’s it! I thank you
I hope I passed the test.
Now excuse me while I get drunk
and talk through all the rest.

Copyright 1996, Jason Pettus. All rights reserved. This was published under a Creative Commons license; click here for details. Contact: ilikejason [at] gmail [dot] com.