Sunday, 03.22:

Stopped gardening this afternoon just in time to shower and change for Michael’s reading—we arrived promptly at 3:50; people have been mingling and chair-hopping for half an hour.

Victor in black. David observed that he’s very good at working the crowd, making each person feel welcome. Pedro in black. The guy with big hair and too-long pants who used to introduce the plays and do a general sell at Stages. Several folks I recognize from the Poetry Fest: Milt, Andre, & the guy who mumbled everyone’s introductions at the microphone and told senseless jokes no one laughed at. Michael’s wife, Susan, is here, and someone who I think is their son, in jeans, black boots & an aqua polo shirt.

I’d forgotten how many pretty people shop here. The tall man in black shorts and a white tank top—Dignity? A man with beautiful very dark skin wandering slowly through each book section. I passed close to him and stared.

Roberta just huffed up—Has he finished reading? I told her no, he hasn’t started. She was worried about getting here at 4:30. David says she’s odious.

poem draft found on a 2×4 scratch pad:

poem draft_032492

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