It was a poetry reading.
Well more a weird sort of get together of poets and kids.
Once is the last place you would ever expect to find me.
I somehow got looped into speaking before a class of young writers.
It was early I was hungover there were two other poets there.
Both had their so called shit together neither were fans.
And for that I was grateful.
They brought their books and came to read.
The first was a editor of some Mag I never heard of.
He spoke to the class about workshops and other things I could truly give a damn about.
He was really a miserable long winded prick.
Then he read for us all and we truly understood why.
The next poet was a kid from the class he was a arrogant bastard.
He had looks and clearly held the young girls attention.
I watched as a tall what I assumed was a outcast like myself listened to his classmate read.
He looked disgusted.
The kid read and concentrated on his girlfriend she was enamored with his work.
I believe she was the only one that was.
Hopefully he was a better fuck than poet.
Then it was my turn.
The teacher announced me.
“Class I would like you to welcome a very colorful poet and a personal friend of mine please make him feel welcome.”
I stood at the podium the class looked at me like all young kids view what they consider to be a old fart.
“First I would like to thank my opening acts and Miss Roberts may I say you look incredible today.”
One kid snickered.
Why give a reading when you can give a show.
They thought I was a joke to begin with so why not tell a few and get this party rolling.
I began to read a new one.
All about my ex and a trip we had taken back home a few years back.
Most thought it was shit.
The kid in the back got the humor.
The young poet looked disgusted as my other fellow poet.
And my friend Miss Roberts just shook her head.
And shot me look like you better keep it clean you asshole.
I read a few more about drinking and all the shit I was known for.
I kept it toned down as possible.
And it was over as quickly as it began.
Afterwards the class was welcome to ask questions I didn't hang around for that shit.
I had no answers for myself let alone someone else.
Outside the school that misfit in the back caught up with me as I headed to my car.
“Hey man I really liked your stuff.”
“Thanks kid I appreciate it.”
We spoke for a while we talked writers and all the typical bullshit you do when have a love for that page.
“Man why they let Tommy up there to read with you guys is beyond me man.”
Well more a weird sort of get together of poets and kids.
Once is the last place you would ever expect to find me.
I somehow got looped into speaking before a class of young writers.
It was early I was hungover there were two other poets there.
Both had their so called shit together neither were fans.
And for that I was grateful.
They brought their books and came to read.
The first was a editor of some Mag I never heard of.
He spoke to the class about workshops and other things I could truly give a damn about.
He was really a miserable long winded prick.
Then he read for us all and we truly understood why.
The next poet was a kid from the class he was a arrogant bastard.
He had looks and clearly held the young girls attention.
I watched as a tall what I assumed was a outcast like myself listened to his classmate read.
He looked disgusted.
The kid read and concentrated on his girlfriend she was enamored with his work.
I believe she was the only one that was.
Hopefully he was a better fuck than poet.
Then it was my turn.
The teacher announced me.
“Class I would like you to welcome a very colorful poet and a personal friend of mine please make him feel welcome.”
I stood at the podium the class looked at me like all young kids view what they consider to be a old fart.
“First I would like to thank my opening acts and Miss Roberts may I say you look incredible today.”
One kid snickered.
Why give a reading when you can give a show.
They thought I was a joke to begin with so why not tell a few and get this party rolling.
I began to read a new one.
All about my ex and a trip we had taken back home a few years back.
Most thought it was shit.
The kid in the back got the humor.
The young poet looked disgusted as my other fellow poet.
And my friend Miss Roberts just shook her head.
And shot me look like you better keep it clean you asshole.
I read a few more about drinking and all the shit I was known for.
I kept it toned down as possible.
And it was over as quickly as it began.
Afterwards the class was welcome to ask questions I didn't hang around for that shit.
I had no answers for myself let alone someone else.
Outside the school that misfit in the back caught up with me as I headed to my car.
“Hey man I really liked your stuff.”
“Thanks kid I appreciate it.”
We spoke for a while we talked writers and all the typical bullshit you do when have a love for that page.
“Man why they let Tommy up there to read with you guys is beyond me man.”
“He's writing for pussy once is one reason you never write kid.”
He laughed.
“Yeah he's a jerk but everyone thinks he is deep.”
“Well truth be told kid a writer just writes cause its part of who they are it's just that simple.”
The kid asked me if he could read me his work.
Standing there in the hot sun I was in need of a drink.
Not a poetry reading.
But I listened anyways.
It was what I expected your always shit when you think your good.
But it had promise.
It just needed some years was all.
I told him I liked them and to keep at it.
I would have told him about anything to get rid of him.
He asked me for a autograph and a email so he could send me some more work.
I signed a blank piece of paper.
And upon this paper is what it said.
Listen to yourself and read all you can.
Avoid people who have a answer for everything drink to much and chase the wrong kind of women.
And remember much like the days of the wild west.
Riding bareback is a thing of the past.
So wrap that rascal.
Sincerely,
Ryan Quinn Flanagan.
About John Patrick Robbins:
John Patrick Robbins
Is a outlaw poet whose life would be far more interesting than anything he could ever create on this page.
He can often be found at his bar in which he also lives in.
He craves a good time wild women and fine whiskey.
His work has been published with.
Horror Sleaze Trash ,Romingos Porch , Red Fez, Spill The Words, Piker Press, Outlaw Poetry Network, Blue Pepper, And more than a few bathroom walls.
His work is always unfiltered.
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