We show up late to this poetry reading because it is Swing Dance Monday, so we go straight to the bar instead of sneaking in from the side. Raissa orders a wine, white, and I order a wine, red, and she says, “Whenever I order anything other than wine I always wish it was wine.” We take our drinks to the stairs and watch the poet through the glass door. Some man has his eyes closed, arms crossed, meditating the words; it is kind of creepy. Poets become so unsexy when you can’t hear what they are saying, except I can hear; the words love and shark’s vagina somehow come through the wall, in that order. I kind of like how that happened, the disintegration of love by a shark’s vagina.
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