Wild Billy Virtual

Wild Billy Shakes tuned into

the virtual poetry reading.

Not a tech, Shakespeare, he can’t

get his camera to work

& doesn’t Mute.

Everyone is treated to his sigh,

black screen, his muttering

in background as a woman

reads free verse about the moon

standing between her & her lover.

Another reader describes

the birdcalls of passion.

On the screen people applaud

in silence, nod.

The moderator, half joking, says

“Please, no more moons, no more birds.”

“No forests,” Billy mutters, “no Tower

of London, no falling leaves.”

“Please,” the moderator, “Mute

when it’s not your turn.”

“Fucking snowflakes,” Billy is heard to say,

thinking of Jonson or Marvel.

Good thing they’re not on the line.

They would savage the delicate phrases,

trample the flowers, fart like the moon.

He smiles.

At which his camera switches on

just for a moment

treating the fifteen other attendees to a

leering man needing a haircut,

still wearing grease paint.

A wraith

A bogey

about to say something horrible

when the moderator

stabs the Mute button

just in time.