The Inconsiderate Boar

For a few months, Brenda and I went to weekly poetry readings at a place in Downtown Indy called Café Angst. It doesn’t exist anymore, but a bit of Google searching found a few articles where the place was mentioned. I don’t remember exactly where it was, but I do remember it being in the basement and you had to go upstairs to use the restroom. The pipes from the restrooms ran along the ceiling and everyone could hear when the toilets flushed.

Mostly, the patrons were young “misfits” who smoked “alternative” cigarettes, drank “alternative” selections of coffee, soda, and/or liquor. Being non-smokers, Brenda and I were rarely comfortable, but we came anyway as it was an opportunity to hear the “trending” poetry of the day as well as share our own.

Truly, there were some good poets among the meager crowd. A few musicians played their original songs. I gave one of my poems (not one I’ve shared here yet) to a couple who called themselves “Flower.” I never knew what happened to them, or if they ever used my poem.

Anyway, being around poets inspired me to write poems. Surprised? I didn’t think so. This one didn’t win me any friends, though.


The Inconsiderate Boar
To the rude people among the poets at Café Angst
You know who you are
© W. Scott Grant
July 5, 1994 9:45 pm

Does it really matter
If you like my poetry?
You smoke your cigarettes
You sip your coffee.

I read to you
In the smoky air
My voice isn’t
The only one I hear.

Must I compete?
Why are we here?
To respect each other
Or just to ignore.

You don’t listen to my poem
You inconsiderate boar
But you expect me
To listen to yours.


3 thoughts on “The Inconsiderate Boar

  1. I’ll be happy to shut up and listen to your poetry, regardless its quality. I like pork, too, if it’s cooked right. Now to go and visit your site and see what you’re all about. Thanks for visiting!


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