Patrick Phillmore
Coughing
red faced his eyes a mere line
interrupting Marta Flamingo
(she was the first reader of the evening)
and everybody looked tense
waiting for the next cough
sure to come
Then it was his turn
and he started talking about birds more specifically, crows
The man was sick
everybody could see that
sick and drunk
At last he said something
that I wouldn't try to write in an indirect style
He was going to die
soon
and we had to trust him
It was nothing
And the host tried to "make light" of things
and no one budged an eyelash
you could have heard a pin drop
I went out alone
and he was drinking, seated on the porch.
