by Earl J. Wilcox
A famous fiction writer sits elbow to elbow by me
behind a garish banquet table on an over-lit stage.
He wrestles with lettuce, picks at his peas, deftly digs
into an overcooked lamb chop. Between bites, we chat
amiably. He gazes toward an adoring audience as if
searching for a friend to rescue him from this show.
The common folk stare back at us, sip their wine,
wonder what he and I are discussing. They imagine
we mix our peas and chops with talk of unpalatable
words from feminist critics whose slaughter of his
body of work has left a bitter taste in his mouth.
We clear our palates, rise for his reading, after he
has signed my copy of his latest novel with a note
claiming to savor our gab for thirty minutes about
favorite foods, growing up in rural America,
----and speaking harshly to grandchildren.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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