I Went Looking For An Audience

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I went looking for an audience for my poems,

Found one nearby at the old folks home.

The bars bustled with games on large screens, and the cafés 

Were packed with patrons glued to laptops sipping lattés.

But at the old folks home they appreciate true entertainment,

Especially the kind that doesn't ask for payment.

They put me on the events calendar, top of the bill,

Reserved me a mic, a pitcher of water, and a room to fill.

I appeared the day after a guitarist who sang Yiddish tunes,

Slotted-in before bingo, and a man who made animal balloons.

And on the appointed day, at the appointed hour,

My audience shuffled in, mostly under their own power.

Some were wheeled in chairs, a few still in their beds,

Most with sleepy eyes and others with foggy heads.

They parked their metal walkers next to Filipina attendants,

It was as quiet as a courtroom and I was the Defendant.

I'd guess they ranged in age from eighty to one-o-five,

They all seemed more or less happy to still be alive -

Alive they were, they’d seen the Great Depression,

And had made to life's demands every possible concession.

Some I could tell had even known Auschwitz One and Two,

The evidence marked indelibly on a forearm tattoo. 

This was my audience, experts of the most tragic kind,

Forgetful and forgotten, mostly deaf and semi-blind.

Now fixed to this place, they waited obediently,

For a pisher like me to recite his precious poetry.

And there I stood before them offering my paltry rhymes, 

Lacking in perspective but possessing abundant time.

What came over me was an indescribable shame,

As if my mere presence had insulted the Holy Name.

Still, I read, as they sat there, cold as rows of stone, 

Utterly unmoved, and utterly alone. 

When done, I gathered my scraps and thanked them profusely,  

Knowing that not one of them would have changed their place with me.