Two nights ago, I went to a poetry reading.  I have gone to a poetry reading every night since I’ve moved to Providence.  Most of them are similar.  There is nothing else to do in Providence.  Most poetry readings include one poet who only reads ‘your mom’ poems.  ‘Your mom’ poems are funny the first time you hear one, but then they kind of get old.  The first time I heard a ‘your mom’ poem I laughed.  The poet said, “My bed sheets were dirty.  Your mom changed them.”  OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOhhhh. LOL.  Burn.

If you like poetry readings you should move to Providence.  If you don’t have a car or your leg is stuck in a bear trap in Wyoming, you should write a poem called, “I don’t have a car or my leg is stuck in a bear trap in Wyoming,” and eventually someone in Providence will read it and they’ll come and get you.  Most likely they’ll send out a team of poets to read to the bear trap and the bear trap will relinquish its grasp and then you’ll be able to move to Providence.

After the reading I wanted to eat a hamburger.  One of the poets said, “I know a good hamburger place that sells hamburgers for $3.”  I said, “I am interested.”  Time passed.  A significant amount of time passed.  After all that time passed a poet came up to me and said, “The $3 hamburgers don’t exist anymore.  I am going around the corner to buy a grilled cheese.”  I went with them and bought candy coated almonds.

Then it was midnight and I thought, “I should go home and study Spanish.”  I had a big Spanish test the following morning.  I hadn’t studied yet.  I said, “I think I’m going to go home and study Spanish.”  Everyone looked at me like I was stupid.  One person began yelling.  They yelled, “Follow me.”  Everyone followed.  I followed.  When the yelling stopped we were at someone’s car.  Everyone got in the car.  There were not enough seats for everyone.  One of the poets pointed at me and said, “You, in the trunk.”  I got in the trunk.  Before the poet shut the trunk they said, “Write a poem about the trunk.”  It was dark in the trunk.  I could not see.  I tried to write a poem.  I thought, “I will write a poem to a bear trap that will make it relinquish its grasp.”  The poem was not very good.  We went over a bump.  I said, “Ow,” even though the bump did not hurt.  If I was a bear trapper I would put up signs near the trap that said, “Caution, there is a bear trap in the vicinity.”  I’m pretty sure bears can’t read.  When the car stopped I was let out of the trunk.  Everyone wanted to know what it was like in the trunk.  I made attempts at describing the situation.  Then Shel Silverstein did acid.  Then I went home.

Here is my bear trap poem:

“Your mom is a bear trap.  Then she changed my sheets. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOhhh. LOL.  Burn.”