The rich, we’re told, suffer just like the poor,
except that they have paychecks from the New
Yorker and dental insurance. The war
of the classes, we are told by those who
were once poor but now rich, shouldn’t appear
in your work. What if the Academy
one day likes you? Like the war profiteer
fortune falls to the bold. Hypocrisy
is just sour grapes, they say. I love Open
Mics (not Slams, not Lectures), with the freedom
to read out loud, for that very reason.
I don’t care what books you’ve sold. Our fortune
falls to all who burn, Open Mic’s maxim,
we’re small town democracy in action.