Complimentary Food at a Poetry Reading

I was at a poetry reading in Toronto the other night. There was some suspicious looking sushi.

Complimentary Food at a Poetry Reading

“I’m uncomfortable with anonymous
sushi,” I said. “It’s like uncondomed sex,”
he agreed, “with strangers. Might be good,
but you’re never sure if it’s worth the risk.”

The poets all read their lines in a row.

“And I’m suspicious of anonymous
poetry,” I said, but he was too stoned
to hear. “I don’t just want a signature.
I want to know the hands that fashioned it.”

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