Oh Shit! … I’ve forgotten the words,
Of the poem that I was going to recite.
I know that there’s no pressure for me to perform,
But I’d actually just like to get it right.
With more than forty of my poems committed to memory,
And rattling around inside my head,
Try as I might … I’m buggered if I can,
Pick up that elusive thread.
It’s lucky that I’m a snappy dresser,
That might distract you for a moment or two,
While I pull back the veil that has fallen,
And expose that verse to my mind’s eye’s view.
I suspect that you are sitting there thinking,
“Thank God that’s not happening to me!”
But if you get up on stage often enough,
It will happen … eventually.
I’ll probably kick my own arse,
Out the door and all the way home,
If only I’d brought that scrap of paper,
I could have read you the bloody poem.
This is obviously a performer’s worst nightmare,
And the moment that most poets fear,
You’ve been a wonderful audience,
Goodnight … I’m out of here!