Tipplers, beware! Drunk Poets’ Society is when Lauren Paredes goes to bars, magnetic poetry in hand, looking for poets who don’t know it … yet.
Ah, Davis Square on a Saturday night. Often this equates to bar hopping with drunken pizza slice intermissions at Mike’s, and this night is no exception; the sausage and feta is phenomenal. But first, a stop in to Joshua Tree for the next round of poetic experimentation.
So I suppose in this instance, my person presented herself to me. One minute I’m ordering my Allagash, and then the next an energetic girl is wondering if I like her dance moves. I say yes, of course, while she does her rendition of the shopping cart.
“Are you celebrating something tonight?” I ask. “Yeah I am. Basically my boyfriend of 16 months finally said I Love You.”
Oh, perfect. Wanna write about it?
The happy red head obliges, taking my box o’ words over to a table. She is immediately attracted to both ‘delirious’ and ‘frantic’. I am reminded that every participant thus far has used those words. I don’t know what that means, but I think it might be important.
I ask Elinor, still groovin’ in her seat to Only Girl (In The World), to tell me a little about her man while she composes.
“Well, he’s hilarious, and we act like children. It’s great,” she says, waving the ‘together’ magnet through the air.
She considers the line ‘whisper beauty’ but quickly tosses it back into the pile of rejected phrases. “Can you write that I’m a hot ginger?” she implores.
When she seems satisfied by her poem (and the red lazer lighting streaking across it), I ask her what she thinks her boyfriend will say about what she wrote. She finishes her Lemon Drop martini and smiles.
“He might think it’s stupid, but he has no feelings.”