THE READING TABLE

I sat at the table
Waiting for my turn to read
And this short story writer
Was reading some
Of his work

He was next to me
And he had a mike
Close to his mouth
And a captive audience
As collateral

The guy was good
He knew his short stories
Very well
And I was concerned
Because he would be
A tough act to follow
I really enjoyed
His work
And the audience did too
All that immaculate Spanish
And I only had
Bilingual poems

But his left hand
The one closest to me
Was shaking uncontrollably
As if he was a soldier
On his first battle field

I felt bad for the guy
So I took a drink
From my paper cup
It had beer in it
The other writers
At the table had booze
In theirs
To the media and
The folks sitting in the theater
It looked like coffee

And I thought to myself
Grab you hand
So it shakes no more
And you will shoot strait

And he did just that
He finished his reading
In one piece
Then came
The roar of applause.