on every street where there’s a poetry reading
there is a sidewalk

and on it the rich folks stroll, the middle class folks 
hurry, and behind the windows the poor folks 

stand behind counters, behind bars,
behind the scenes,

and everyone looks a little bit lost,
a little bit scared, a little in a fog.

but in every reading everyone changes —
there are just poets there and people thinking about poetry 

so is it any wonder that in there we love
our detailed narratives and our persona poems

and our big broad stories told loud?  stepping outside —
bah, who wants to do that?  who among us here

in the warm hug of the poetry reading
ever wants to go back onto the sidewalk

with the rest of the foggy scared
lost rich poor middle class people?