You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey #2) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,33
She turns to me. “We can grab dessert after.”
Here we go again. I hate having my plans disrupted. But dammit, it’s not the end of the world. I need to chill. So I smile and say, “Sure!”
“It starts at seven-thirty,” Sunny says. “We need to get moving.”
We hang out while they take care of their bar tab and then all six of us leave the restaurant. Eli and Connor link arms and lead the way to the café only a couple of blocks away on Second Avenue—Original Rose Poetry and Café.
Wow.
We have to pay a cover fee, which Sara insists on paying for me since she dragged us here. I can smell the marijuana wafting from the café as we stand and wait to get in. Holy shit, we’re going to be higher than a giraffe’s ass just from sitting in there. Actually, maybe that’s a good thing, since I’m not exactly into poetry.
The place is dark and tiny. We’re shown to a table near the low stage where a microphone sits.
The bar menu consists of a few odd cocktails (Gay-Dar Ade, wow) and a bunch of craft beers. Sara orders a Pig’s Ass Porter. “I’ll have the same,” I mumble.
I shift in my wooden chair to survey the room. Behind the stage, the wall is covered with ornate panels, with columns on either side and a sign above that says Original Rose. Everyone here seems to know one another as Eli and Connor are talking to the people at the table next to us and Kamal and Sunny stopped on the way to the table to speak to someone else.
“This is so cool!” Sara looks around too. “I’ve never been here. I might have to come back and do a video.”
“Er, yeah.” I look for the waitress, hoping she’s bringing that beer.
Soon, the lights dim more, and a spotlight hits the stage. A man runs up and grabs the mic. “Good evening, everyone! Welcome to Original Rose. We have a great lineup tonight. You’re going to love hearing Gabor Nagy.” He lists off a few other names that mean nothing to me, to vigorous applause. “Enjoy!”
The first poet comes up to the stage and stands in front of the mike. He’s wearing black pants, a white shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. The room falls silent.
The hush lengthens. I shift in my chair again.
“Nature’s Semen,” the man begins.
Jesus Christ. I slide my eyes sideways to look at Sara and she does the same. She makes an “Eeek” face, then we turn back to the poet.
“Water spills from my eyes
Like raindrops streaking down the window.
How odd it is that sadness brings out aqua
To run down our cheeks.
Alone in this world, humans cry
In response to emotion.
An infant’s cry is a puny call for help.
A teardrop is feminine.
It is weakness. It is suffering and sorrow.
I am weeping like the heavens.
Nature’s semen soaks the earth so plants can grow.
But my tears are barren.
Above all, a tear is a tear
For if everything is symbolic, everything would mean everything and nothing.”
He bows his head.
I start to applaud, but after a couple of claps I realize nobody else is. Everyone in the place turns, their gazes burning into me.
“You’re supposed to wait until he’s finished,” Sara whispers to me.
“I thought he was,” I whisper back, heat rising from the collar of my shirt into my face.
“Finishes all his poems.”
“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” Jesus. What the hell do I know? I slump down in my seat.
I do know I could have written a better poem than that. “Nature’s Semen”? Come on!
The man begins his next poem, “Poetry Sucks.” The crowd makes noises of appreciation, low “Mmmm” sounds, but holds off the applause until he’s finished all his poems. Then they jump up and clap enthusiastically.
Meanwhile, I’ve guzzled my whole beer. And I definitely need another one if we’re staying for more.
Is Sara enjoying this? I don’t want to be judgy, but if this is her kind of entertainment, I’m not sure there’s much point in us seeing each other again. The only poem I can remember is “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Okay, I know a couple of others, but I don’t think the people here would appreciate them.
We order another round of beers and Sara shifts in her chair next to me to look into my eyes. “Maybe I just don’t get good poetry,” she whispers. “But that seemed god-awful to me.”
My lips twitch. “Really? I’m kind of fascinated by ‘Nature’s Semen.’ ”