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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ ISBN# issue/book “Choices” cc&d, v313 (the September 2021 issue) Order the 6"x9" paperback book:

Order this writing in the book The World Outside the cc&d Sep.-Dec. 2021 magazine issues collection book		get the 424 page Sep.-Dec. 2021 cc&d magazine 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Specific Unforeseen Side-Effects of Covid19-Induced Virtual Poetry Open Mics Upon Unsuspecting Poetry Community Members

Bryan Franco

I was watching a woman read a poem on Zoom when she uttered the line: “I was slick and sweet like a forbidden piece of candy.” Despite the fact that I’m a fifty-three-year-old gay man, I found myself slowly sliding down the inside of my 1970’s burnt orange velvet Ethan Allen wingback chair. After my butt fell off the edge of the chair, I fell flat on my back on the floor. I lay there like a flaccid oyster atop a saltine cracker waiting for a dose of homemade horseradish-heavy cocktail sauce.

I found my phone with my left hand, dialed 911 with my right, and relayed my situation to the operator who said: “Don’t worry. Due to Covid19 and a sudden abundance of Zoom poetry readings, poetry-related injuries such as yours are not uncommon, but there are people who forgo calling 9-1-1 and think they can sleep it off on the floor, but they always wake with their heads twisted to one side and neck pain that lands them in a chiropractor’s office. When they rise to their feet, they find themselves wriggling the hand, wrist, and elbow of the arm they slept on because it’s shoulder continues to feel disjointed for hours. Of course, I’m sure you know a good piece of poetry will do that to you every single time.”

The firemen breached my front door with a hydraulic battering ram. I heard one scream: “Yell out so we can find you.” I yelled out. Three of them stomped through my home in their heavy boots tracking mud on the wood floors in my living room and the carpeted hallway leading to my carpeted bedroom. A middle-age mustachioed fireman who looked like a rugged, rough-and-tumble Ralph Lauren 1980’s cowboy stood over me, carefully placed me on the bed, wedged two pillows under my head and neck, patted the top right-hand corner of the top pillow then screamed to his cohort: “Johnny run to the kitchen and get this man a glass of water.” He looked at me with a kind smile and said: “Sir, it’ll be alright. You’re on your bed; you just need some rest, and when you wake, you’ll feel fine. Besides, I believe you know a good piece of poetry will do this to you every single time.”

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