The following can also be found in the book Chicago Stories 1999. Click here to learn more, and to download a free electronic copy.

One night he finally asked her to have sex with him. She agreed. And everything was just fine.

He wrote a poem about having sex with her and he read it at the open mic. The audience giggled and the audience tittered and everyone had another drink and everything was just fine. She wrote a poem about he writing a poem about having sex with her and the audience giggled some more and whispered silly things in each others' ears and everyone had another drink and everything was fine.

He didn't like her poem about his poem about having sex with her. Or more to the point he didn't like a line in her poem about his poem about having sex with her, a line which he believed was a heavily-codified statement about his sexual performance. He wrote a poem about her writing a poem about he writing a poem about having sex with her and he read it at the open mic and the audience laughed and laughed and had another drink.

She clearly did not like his poem about her poem about his poem about her. It was a little mean and it was a little hateful even if he wouldn't admit it was a little mean and a little hateful. She wrote a poem about his poem about her poem about his poem about her. Her poem was definitely mean and it was definitely hateful and she never hesitated to admit this to anyone who asked. She read her mean and hateful poem about his mean and hateful poem about her poem about his poem about her at the open mic and the audience shifted nervously in their seats and had another drink.

He did not like her poem. He especially did not like the way her friends squealed with delight when she read her poem like a group of 12-year-old girls at an ice skating competition. He wrote a poem about women writing poems about men writing poems about her. It was very mean and very hateful and it was about all of them. He read his poem at the open mic and the audience used the bathroom and a couple of people hissed and everyone had another drink.

Her friend did not like his poem about women writing poems about men writing poems about her. She found it insulting and demeaning and patriarchal. She wrote a poem about men writing poems about women writing poems about men writing poems about women. It was a blanket indictment of all males in the poetry scene. It contained words like "goddess," "Difranco," and "oppression." She read her indicting poem at the open mic and the men in the audience remained strongly silent and the women screamed like schoolgirls and everyone had another drink.

His friend did not like her friend's poem. He found it insulting and demeaning and just like a woman. He wrote a poem about women writing poems about men writing poems about women writing poems about men writing poems about women. It was a blanket indictment of all females in the poetry scene. It contained words like "media whore," "Henry Miller," and "bitch." He read his indicting poem at the open mic and the men in the audience hooted and hollered and made devil signs with their hands. The women got up and left. Everyone had another drink.

He and she both got publishing contracts. They both named their mean and hateful books after the mean and hateful poems about each others' mean and hateful poems about each others' mean and hateful poems. The mean and hateful books were both bestsellers and everyone read and read and had another drink.

The next week everybody wrote poetry about everybody writing poetry about everybody writing poetry about everybody writing poetry. Every poem was mean and every poem was hateful. They all read their poetry at the open mic but there was no audience left to listen. The audience had gotten sick of all the drama and were all getting drunk at a dance bar down the street.

A year later, he apologized to her for his mean and hateful poem about her mean and hateful poem about his poem about her poem about his poem about her. She accepted. He asked her to have sex with him again. She agreed. And everything was...fine.