A famous poet <br />comes to a big hotel, <br />and I'm there. <br /> <br />As she reads, I'm supremely <br />confident about showcasing <br />my talent for her in a little while. <br /> <br />Finally, she indicates us, <br />the audience, with a broad <br />sweep of her arm: <br />'Now I'd like to see <br />what <i>you</i> can do! ' <br /> <br />Intoxicated with confidence, <br />I move nearer to her, <br />biding my time. Nothing <br />comes to me to recite, <br />but it will, it will. <br /> <br />She goes on talking. Still <br />nothing. Then a few <br />lines sift into my head. <br />I begin to recite aloud: <br /> <br />'<i>Come to the edge, he said! </i>' <br />I passionately intone. A young man <br />sitting behind the poet <br />knows this short piece <br />by Apollinaire, with which <br />my longer poem begins, <br /> <br />and starts reciting it with me: <br />'<i>They said, We are afraid! </i>' <br />I tell the fellow to shush. <br /> <br />But the famous poet's attention <br />is elsewhere now. I'm drowned out <br />in the general din and chatter. <br /> <br />My face burning red, I leave <br />and go home to mother.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-moment-has-come/
