They Left Their Hearts At Tooting Broadway

Er this is a poem about a true experience that happened to me at a poetry reading once
And er it's, it's entirely true and entirely acoustically accurate
Um
It's called They Left Their Hearts At Tooting Broadway.

There are two men sat at a table
Straight in front of the stage on which I am stood
And they're Not Joining In

That's the first thing I noticed as I read them the poem
They're not joining in
And as I pass a funny bit the whole giggled in a frenzy of hilarity
Except for them
And so I'd start to watch more closely
I start to pay attention
And I start to start to worry
That maybe they are right
Maybe I'm not a poet with a talent like I thought
Maybe at the crunch I'm just a poet who is not so good

But then
I pull myself together
And begin another poem
And I know that this one's good
Because I've been told so many times
But they still don't move
There's not one nod of the head
And I start to get to thinking that maybe they are dead
I've not seen either of them blink
And I've been watching quite a while
I couldn't swear I'd seen them breathe
And I know they do not smile

But then one moves his hand
And puts it on his pint
Which was sat on the table
Just beside his Daily Mail
And he lifts it and starts drinking
And his eyes on me don't fail
They just stare at me blankly
Blankly staring blankly
Blankly

But at least they're alive
Which is a bit of a relief
But also unnerving
'Cos they've been staring at me all night
And I'm on my third poem
And I'm standing on the stage
And being looked at when I'm there
Is usually all right
But tonight I'm getting scared
By being so stared at
By this unblinking twosome
Who are something quite perverse

You see, I've made a minor study of the human face
Of the use of physiognomy and musculature
And the primary function of that whole set of features
Is for conveying emotions
Of that I am quite sure
But these two men are quite motionless
And silent and I'm fascinated
And unnerved and distracted and I stumble in my verse
And I fluff and get the fear
That something even worse might happen
Like I might forget entirely
Lose it all
And my cool and stool and start stuttering
And collapse like a fool
And I nearly do but I whip out a quick haiku
To fill a bit of time before beginning something new

And I'm thinking all the time
Why can't you smile?
Is that so hard to do?
Mister A and Mister B
Yes you know, you and you
Just give me a sign that you're really here
Use your face for what nature intended
Show you're happy or sad or slightly offended
Or bemused or amused or lost or getting mad
That you're embarrassed, feeling harrassed
Or feel you've been had
Give me hatred even, loathing
Despair despite or long
Look as if you're thinking what I look like in a thong
Give me lust or just a hint of bargain-hunting glee
But hunted, hurt or haunted
Trapped in or breaking free
Look thirsty, hungry, horny, pained, humoured or tickled pink
Or blue perhaps or maybe look like you're having a deep think
About something ecological, metaphorical or what you want to drink
Look like you'd like to see me win a poetry award
Look like you love me dearly or even look bored

Because you see, there's the problem
I could deal with any of that
I don't mind if people think that I am rubbish or a prat
I can cope if they don't like me
Hell, I'm not even my own cup of tea

But these two chaps didn't feel anything
As far as I could see
Not even boredom
And that I couldn't fathom
I mean, why were they there
At my show with their Daily Mail
And their pints and tickets five quid a go
And then suddenly I know
It hits me like a sudden violent and unexpected blow
It's obvious when I think about it
There's necromancy afoot in the audience tonight
Some eldritch power has been unleashed in the room's black light
And this pair of zombie audience members
Is a sad result of the noisome incantations
Of some venue-running cult
Dedicated to making poetry readings look full
Hoping to exert the pull of peer pressure popularity packing them in
Making it look as if everyone who's ever been
Is here tonight
And so tomorrow those who saw the queues but didn't get in
Will spread the news of how this or that pub's back room
Or independent arts centre is the place to be
And everyone living is going to turn up to hear poetry
The night after me

And by then I'll have gone home and had my tea
But you know that's life I guess
And worse things happen on ITV
And suddenly I remember that I'm standing on a stage
And the room is silent
A bit like a tomb
And I recall that it's a poetry reading
And no-one is speaking and I think
That's a bit odd
Although it's nice to have some peace
And later on I'm told I stood there
In silence for seven minutes at least
Lost in thought staring at the audience
Really really hard
And how no-one interrupted
Because this was London
And they thought it avant-garde
But I just felt embarrassed by the whole thing
You know a little strange
So I gathered up my papers and apologised politely
And said I must be going

And on the way out a zombie approached me and tugged at my arm
Stared into my eyes
With just a tiny spit of drool flowing
His hair lank and lifeless
And his eyes began to grin
And it leaned in
And said
Hey man
I really liked your poem

Obviously I was a little bit confused
By the whole experience