Appropriately late one morning, when yours foolie was fortunately still sufficiently young and stoopit to respond appropriately, three poets knocked on her door — one bearing a wooden half-podium, one a suspiciously heavy day pack, and the third an armload of books.
“Come on,” they said.
She came on.
About a mile away by foot, and noticing they were headed in a generally downtown direction, yours foolie gently broached the subject of where they all might be going — to be informed that consent had been obtained from a local coffeeshop for their staging of a marathon poetry reading in the space before its front door. The following seventy two hours, it transpired, had been allotted for this endeavor.
Though it did cross her mind that a jacket or so might have been brought along had a little more information been sooner forthcoming, yours foolie also scented something in the breeze that day — greatness — and did not complain of her fate.
“didn’t we dance?” is her descriptive account of that seventy two hours of delirious verbal indulgence.
It does run a trifle longer than the average poem, at just over ten minutes — but mayhap the listener will not find the time go slowly.
For the reading of this piece she considers the background urban sounds outside her work tent to be particularly appropriate, as they in some measure recreate the downtown street conditions in which the original live marathon reading occurred.
For true verisimilitude, however, the listener need take initiative to add to the general din the boom boxes and catcalls of a thronging metropolitan sidewalk.
Join us, then — before the doors of the Cafe Croissant, on the K Street Pedestrian Mall at traffic-choked 9th Street — to hear the words of angels…