Nobody Here But Us Chickens
Last night is a daze. I remember them liking my poem and I remember a Klingon and a woman who broke down in tears in the middle of her poem. Crabby did a great job, even though she won't believe me. (You did! I'm proud of you!)
My favourite criticism I got from the judges was: "Your poetry reminds me of some of the best stuff that Lorna Crozier has written in the last ten years. Unfortunately, I don't like her poetry."
"But you've heard of her, haven't you?" I replied triumphantly.
Yep. I just want fame.
Crabby's poetry also got compared to Lorna Crozier. Funny coincidence, eh? Maybe we can start up a poet's group, like Group of Seven. Oh wait. We already have: Two Drink Minimum.
On the subway on the way home, Crabby said. "What shall we do for our next adventure?"
"I say we call up Lorna Crozier's publisher."
Snaps to Boomer, Benjamin and Barbara for coming. I hope it wasn't too painful.
I'm going back to bed. Boomer, no need to tell anyone you came to my poetry reading last night since I'm home sick again.
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