Looking For A Poet

Looking for a Poet In Alexandria, the town before Washington, I waited for the bus, it didn’t stop, but then it did and my face was the whitest one on the bus. I had the address of a bar where a famous poet used to frequent, but he was not there he was at his yearly stay at a mental institution. I had brought some poems with me wanted him to read, this was years ago I was young and thought I was unique. Blessed days do no rob a young man of his dream. After a few pitchers of beer, I got up and tried to read me work, but the noise and no one listened. I was ignored like someone walking naked through town and no seem to notice. I was told to leave. The police, criticised now, drove me to Alexandria and to my ship. I shook hands and with the police officers to give the impression of fame. In the crew’s eyes, I was famous but the skipper was still a teetotal ass.