Open Mic Night

(muffled) clips of riffs and licks
slip by corners and
drift through legs-
staged against a crowd of 3.
Speakers hold to beer
as if a mic-
two minutes and forever is your spot tonight.
(Locals Broadway with fewer ovations)
Beatnik Theory drops
like cigarettes
coughing out clouded thoughts,
subdued by even cloudier hops.
An audience of ethos
which claps
lights another cigarette
and sits back
waiting- more than watching...
Soft Bitters sweeten the mood...

Sing little Bluebird,
your wings need resting.
Perch up-top your headed-mic and
speak your spot:
two minutes tonight.