Writers Without Borders

OPEN-MIC ARGUMENT

We reach together for the microphone
the audience shifts attention
knowing our long history.
For once I get there first
I grasp, brush you aside, turn
to read my howl of loss aloud.

Even though I’ve set it free
known it shouldn’t stay caged
breathed my small, dust words
out into the charged air,
my mouth remains full of metal
tastes of bars against wings,
all the things I shouldn't have said,
beat their rapid, trapped pulse,
panicked by the enormity of air
by the loud silence, out and in.

Behind my back you sigh, stride past me
your scent fingers, suspends me in time.
You've held my flesh, my hope, my heart
so you can smote me back so
easily, read your poem that details
how my small mind stifled your desire
with cushions, pillows, needs - that stuff.

Your words dive at me but feint away,
as you read a funny verse I've never heard
about a bird of prey.
You bow your head to deafening applause
hint at your superiority with
the angle of your eyebrow.