We had a meeting about the poets on our roof. We had no idea how they got up there. This is our apartment building and they had no business ruining our quiet with shouting and arguments. Maybe they were just loud readers, but that's not the point. Trespassers can not be tolerated.
Sometimes one will stand at the edge and toss down poems. Egoists. Just creating more paper trash.They order pizza and the delivery guy keeps ringing my bell late at night. He has to find his way up there without dropping the pizza and then curses loudly on the way out because the cheap bastards never tip.
I was elected to speak to them. I somehow found their secret stairs to the roof and when I opened the trap door I was confronted by raggedy, wild looking men and women who demanded to know if I was a poet. I told them I delivered mail and had to get up early. One raised his cane and I thought he'd strike me, but he began ranting in his stentorian voice. I had no idea what he was talking about. I threatened legal action and they laughed. No one arrests poets, I was informed.
We finally reached a compromise. No loud arguments, no late night pizza deliveries, and no dancing. I just threw that one in. Only haiku poets dance, I was told.
I wished they'd find some basement, but they are all infested with musicians.
I need to stop here. My drum circle is meeting on the lawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment