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Show 59 greeting the senior citizens, laughing. Then he heard Mike and Greg. The class would be arriving, Jan would be lighting the candles. What could he do for the next eight minutes? Absently, he measured the width of the opaque men's room window against his own hips and shoulders, then burst out laughing at himself. You can't run away. You can't hide in the urinal, either! Taking a deep breath, Parker walked toward the door. With a little luck, they wouldn't notice his poem on the back of the programs until they got home. Once the hall was darkened and the Read-In began, Parker was too busy to worry. Following Mrs. Simpson's opening remarks, the poetry reading moved along at a good tempo, the serious stuff balanced with light verse. Jan read her poem, "And Then There Were None," to her own guitar accompaniment* The minor melody, plucked one string at a time, was eerily reminiscent of the dying and disappearing voices of birds. Bob Tiedemann's Nazi ballad, with Jeff on the snare drum and Mike handling the spot, was so terrific it gave Parker goose flesh even though he'd heard it before* The senior citizens were a rapt audience. Of course, they liked some poems better than others. Lisa Martinez, who'd written the only sonnet, got the most applause. Standing child-like behind the mike, her small voice crystalline, fine-tuned, she read her fourteen lines with such prolonged intensity Parker nearly forgot to breathe. How does she do it? He looked on amazed. How does she put so much heart in it7 Dyna's reading, too, was a highlight. Whereas Lisa had charmed the audience into listening, Dyna shocked them to attention. "Hey, Jesus!" she began in a strident voice, standing with her legs apart and her hands on her hips. Suddenly it was so quiet you could hear eyelashes bat all over the assembly hall. "Don't cry, Jesus!" She took the mike in her hands, comforting, consoling. "It's all right now. Consider your factory stamped plastic crosses, your church incense, choice of four fragrances, the stark neon signs flashing out the wonder of your birth. You've made it, man. Hell, look at those fantastic iron and glass churches- |
