Melville Poetry Festival
Note the plastic chairs
in neat rows
for a poetry reading
Deduce from their dirty laps
something beyond the fact
that minutes ago
they were still stacked
outdoors
The dirt is a metaphor
The sponsor’s logo perhaps
The sandy scalps of Wopko Jensma
Dry pans with bullfrogs beneath the crust
awaiting a shower
Consider the gallery’s word art
lost on the walls and our eternal
audience yet again, smudged within
the greater frame, recall
the critique earlier and aged beauty
of a book dealer
Follow the photocopied programme
to the letter and arrive on time
at vacant venues,
a festival between the lines