| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Delmas Philpot lives in Grand Rapids Michigan, but is in the process of moving to Kentucky to do research for a book. He attended EKU and received a BA in Creative Writing from the institution. This year, he has appeared in Lit Chaos magazine and will be featured in the sixth issue of Breadcrumb Scabs literary journal. Expect a collection from the author due out next year. |
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| © 2009 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| The Pretentious Poets |
| by Delmas Philpot |
| An editor for a lit magazine thinks: “I’m real fresh.”
He invites me to a reading he’s hosting. He tells me that he’ll pay for my gas. I tell him if he covers my drinks he’s got a deal. So, I go to the place where the reading is being held. It’s a hippie type joint. I say that cause the man working the bar had dread locks. I go straight to the bar and give Bob Marley the editor’s name so that he can point him out to me. I go over to him and tell him who I am. He looks at me and I can tell he is shocked. “What?” I asked him. “Nothing,” he said. “You just don’t look like the stuff you write.” “That’s a good thing,” I said. “Drinks on me,” he gives me the OK to get drunk on his behalf. He tells me I’ll read somewhere in the middle. 8 scotch on the rocks later I’m up. I was on a scotch kick at the time. I was feeling good and ready to go. The first poem I read I made up on the spot, I called it, “the Pretentious Poets”. I talked about how I hate poetry about kissing the moon, grandpas, flowers, and strippers didn’t get enough hugs from daddy, and how people who write rhyming poetry should be shot in the face. All of the following subjects were covered by the preceding poets. Then I read a poem that I had written about an obese woman who eats babies in an alternate universe. Looks of confusion and hate were decorating the room Like a love goddess wears her favorite lingerie. I quit while I was ahead. When I sat down the editor came up to me and told me he loved my poem. He asked me why I didn’t read more. “They looked pissed,” I said. “It’s because they’re pretentious,” he said and patted me on the back. He was cool. I left a hundred dollars at the bar to cover the booze. It was only fair. He also told me he’d like to put that poem about the baby eating woman in his mag, but it was too out there for his audience. No shit. I still haven’t published that damn poem. I learned something that night; I’m a pretentious asshole. |
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| July 2009 |
| 121 |