Doctor, I am lying on your table with my compliant bones
Doctor, soon you will be under my anonymous skin
Doctor, you have reduced me to my lowest common denominator
Doctor, is that a scalpel in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
After dinner at Nonya, GH went home and I made my way to Bowery Poetry Club, where I was to read for the Carmine Street Metric series, hosted by Eric Norris. It was nice to see familiar faces there, in particular, Wendy Chin-Tanner, John Marcus Powell, Quincy Lehr, Rick Mullin and Robert Gibbons. Rose Bernal was there too. My fellow feature, George Witte, read poems that take on large issues--America's foreign wars, the healthcare system--but see them through their effects on individual lives. The poems are quietly intelligent, with an undercurrent of anger. I read from Seven Studies and was pleased to sell four books, one to a handsome young man with a beard, whose name is Max.
After the reading, a few of us had dinner at a nearby pub. We shot the air, throwing up Auden, Eliot, MacNiece and Nabokov for targets.