I’ve heard a lot of slam poetry during my time at Kenyon. Okay, most of the time by accident, when I wandered into an open mic night and it just felt too rude to leave. As my knowledge and experience with this great art form has expanded, I have decided to create my own slam poetry. The best poetry comes from what you know the best, so my slam poetry will emulate the triumphs and tragedies of being a Kenyon student to the best of my ability. If you want to see these poems performed in their truest form, I will be screaming them in the backyard of Chilitos at its busiest hour. Please snap for me!
Ode to Mcbride at 2 AM
does it smell like in Mcbride?
Is it the zoo? Is it the aquarium?
Is it the gas station from New Jersey where my sister threw up
on a road trip in 2009?
Or is it simply urine?
(hissing to emulate the flow)
The scent overwhelms,
I can’t ignore
the suffocating smell
I choke back tears and try to scream for help,
but my cries are muffled
By the hollers of a drunk king on the third floor
“Play Lil Tecca! Play Lil Tecca!”
I weep on this Thursday evening.
The doors at Kenyon do not open for me
Slow, slow, automatic door
The doors at Kenyon do not open for me.
It is so much more complex
than the “Push/pull” dilemma
Somehow, also wrong.
KAC, Gund Gallery, Pierce:
All too heavy
and too confusing.
I grip the handle of the Gund Gallery door
just open enough for me to squeeze through.
I try to hold the KAC door open for the swimmer behind me
Apparently the door does not operate via my wishes and
It just very nearly closes on his face
but he squeezes through,
glaring because I was not strong enough to hold it.
I fear I will lose control, grip too hard and
in a rage,
I will shatter the impossible automatic door and, finally,
the doors at Kenyon will open for me.
To Piggyback Off of That Point
Isn’t it beautiful
how the front row of every class you take
is exactly the same?
“We actually talked about this in my other class”
The girl with the infinity scarf chirps.
“Did anybody else see this as an example of cinema verite?”
The freshman boy with a Mac Demarco t-shirt
uses words that he doesn’t understand
because they sound foreign.
Everyone nursing a paper cup of tea.
I perch at the highest chair in Wiggins
My back aches (ow!)
My laptop threatens to crash to the floor
away from the too-small table.
Someone threatens to stand
from the booth in the corner- Hark!
I lurk as she wraps her scarf-
and just as she makes her way toward the door,
she offers the table to her friend from gender studies.