Fish and Open Mic Night

After a night out "on a small town."

Poached, steamed, broiled, boiled,

dried, fried

in soups and saucers,

piled high, their eyes bright,

their silver bodies shimmer

in the harsh light of the hall.

 

Fish and open mic night

at Der Schnitzel.

Ten fish dishes. Ten acts.

Comics, poets, a demure cello player,

“a little person” (with a big heart) on harmonica,

a shy, chubby teen singing a familiar “Oh, Baby...Oh, Baby” tune, a cappella,

memorized note by note by note,

listening to a CD every day after pom-pom practice.

 

Fierce in its stilted taste and organized fun,

glorious in attempts to dazzle and entertain,

certain the crowd is buzzed and fuzzy

on the beer and polite, white wine.

 

We squirm and fidget,

embarrassed for the people on the stage �" a few feet above our heads

and so close to our table

we see their silver fillings on the high notes.

 

There are holes in the older woman's hose when she sits on the stool to read her poem.

She has one, clear, drop of mucus on the tip of her nose.

Some of us can only focus on that precise,  perfectly round secretion - so clear and symmetrical

the unintentional lens magnifies the stage behind her.

 

We feel sorry, and made more uneasy

when she loses her place.

Her poem is about lost love.

When she finishes, she puts her head down and seems to sob.

Her shoulders hunch and her chest surges.

 

The stage hand moves to her quickly to touch her shoulder and say something in her ear.

 

The fish know nothing of this drama. They lie quietly in the pans and plates, oblivious to all around them.  They are better for it.

##

Author's Note

Any feedback is welcome. My ego was lost in the 60's

Reviews

[JohnnyMagrinho]

I actually really like this.

It's very, very offbeat and the development and progression of its pace and rhythm contradicts its initial starting motion. I like that.

The way you draw us in by talking about the fish and then using them to close the piece was a nice touch. We can slither in and out with them, sort of like being on the edges of a shoal, awaiting entry. Then when we are in we can see this hidden world they can never bear witness to, like it were a secret. And then we exit with them.

I like the juxtaposition between the fish and people. Those embarrassing acts, auditioning their humiliation for us all. And it's open for anyone to have a go.

I think the fish could be representative of talent or some sort of understanding of self, as they are left out in the hall, far from the shameless acts where they are needed. The fact they are slippery and slimey too makes me think it's hard to attain such a level of talent, and that most people would rather forgo that self-affirmation and rely on 'raw talent.'

I like how you pity us and make the fish out to be saved from it all. The sobbing mucus lady was a nice touch. It became rather observational and lost a lot of impetus towards the last third of the poem but I really liked that. It's sort of like you were excited to let people know how bad it was by being funny and articulate and then the more you started to remember the more you would recount exactly how it was, leaving nothing out.

The general feeling of the piece is obviously very much that sense of embarrassment on behalf of the audience, having to suffer while these acts suffer in front of them. We, the reader, are sitting in that theatre and experiencing the drama like those people are, all the while contemplating the slimey texture of a fish and what it must be like to be out in the hall. In that sense there is a sense of reverberation about the poem, like standing outside your school hall during assembly, trying to listen in without having to be right in the middle of it all. We are in two places at once, fighting between being the fish and the people.