Next Week: Jennifer Beals' Goobers

In all my years of attending Writers' Block I do not think I have ever heard so many breast references in one night.

Perhaps it was because Scott Woods went to Detroit for a reading and was deeply affected by one poet's take on the anatomy. He brought something from their night back with him to share with the rest of the class.

It's going to take a Silkwood Shower for my mind to erase the imagery of Irene Cara's raisinets.

Did you know that one poet has yellow titty tater tots? Now you do.

It's a given to not fuck with one's tank top twins.

Yes, there was also a great deal of alliteration last night.

I was so consumed by the breast that I thought the mention of a poet's Grandmother's great wall was about her rack. I was mistaken.

And poor Travis, coming all the way from Lima was overshadowed by the others with a heartfelt poem about breast cancer awareness. He got the photograph though.

A door prize ticket was picked, not out of a poet's bra, and I won admission to First Draft Friday night.

All of this breast mentioning, and the slam had not even started yet!



It was another qualifier for the Women of the World Poetry Slam and nine women, eighteen breasts, were ready.

In round one, no breasts were mentioned. There was not even any dong knocking.

In round two though, some puppies were released.

There was an alchemy of breasts and asses past.

However, the taste of #68's nipple is unknown.

Paula wrote succinctly about "These." And when I say these, I mean, those. Yes, them.

Not sure of my use of commas there, perhaps Louise can correct my punctuation. Heaven knows she can use an exclamation point or two.

When the smoke cleared Rose Smith won a very close slam.

I'd been away for a month. Yes, I missed it.