I spent the second Sunday of September falling madly in love with poet after poet at the Justice League. The $500 cash prize at SF's slam drew amazing talent from across the country. Each dazzled the audience for one 10 minute set (vs. the usual slam 2 rounds with 3 minute time limits). All (almost all) funny clever talented inspiring.
Bridget Hall. Slam poet. Kick ass mujer. Dealing with boyfriend drama trauma. Changed her set because she was upset. He had embarrassed her at a club, telling her, in front of everyone, that if she is STILL all mad about his little indiscretion, why doesn't she just write a poem and then get over it?
She agreed that writing a poem was a good idea. Bridget asked for patience from the audience while she dialed up her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend on her cell phone AND PERFORMED HER POEM.
By the end of her piece, titled "Dear John," she was shaking, much of the audience was stunned, a couple of us stood cheering, and Lord knows what he was thinking. She picked up the phone she had tossed onto the stage floor at one point, shrugged goodbye before hanging up the cell, then breathed into the mic,
NEVER F*CK WITH A POET.
091002
Second Sundays, monthly San Francisco slam, sponsored by Youth Speaks.