After watching girls roll around the track and beat the crap out of each other in what was billed as “Poetry In Motion”, we walked out of the roller derby and put together our own sport:
Rollerpoetry.
Instead of helmets and pads, we handed out berets and copies of Allen Ginsberg’s book “Howl.”
Poets would circle the track, sharing the verse in ways that teachers and Kindles couldn’t.
Opening night, the crowds gathered around the track and booed the circling poets.
One bumped into another. They started throwing punches.
My friends, there’s no avoiding the truth: Culture truly is dead.