Beat

She took the stage,
licked her lips, then
moved the microphone close
to her thin red lips.

Holding a wad of wrinkled
paper in her left hand
she started to read
gesturing with her hands
swaying to the rhythm
reading her poetry
about love lost
broken hearts
better days
lessons learned
and tube socks.

She read her poetry
her bad, bad poetry
with the flair of
a great, great beat poet.

Perhaps she should get a beret.
That... might improve things.