a post KGB poem

[Catherine P.]

'Twas A Night to Emulate TRP

There was a Profane, a Stencil, an Esther and Dixon, 
The emcee was charming, the judge -- quite a vixen
For four were 'disqualified' for mistakes unPynchonian
Like mentioning his birthplace or title withholding.
The winner was given a telescope for surveying 
His own longitude lines or Snowball'd children a-Playing

Davemarc read his Pynch-like story of a character shady
and his pet roach who had aspirations to be Greg Brady, 
Chris' Lotion review played out hip and jive,
Esquire's loss written was our gain live.

I sat in the one last chair (the place was packed),
Unwittingly across from D. Larson and a London Times hack.
A short-sleeved shirt of multi-colored batik Dale wore,
bedecked like this because he swore 
that P-listers must do a lot of drugs, 
and would hopefully like the swirls and hues thereof....

(Sober save for a Sam Adams, I shrugged.) 

A blue-lined copy of Lineland rested on the table
As he thumbed through it, I spied what I was able.
In one margin, a bold quote loomed out of the fuzz, 
DYB's comment re: pot and does he still get a buzz?

Post event, soon other P-listers gathered 'round, 
asking Dale questions, making some frowns.
I caught what I could, but was otherwise occupied
By a stranger that said P-listers need to 'Get a life.'
"I have a life," I said, but started to laugh, 
Wondering whether all this is a lit-crit gaffe.

Wish you'd all been there,
Catherine