A sea of faces

staring blankly in the dark;

will a haiku work?

 

I open my mouth,

so do the folk at the back;

my words drown in theirs.

 

I cannot punch them.

What would Ivor Cutler do?

I wither with verse,

 

amplify volume,

begin to shriek down the mic;

they match my ascent.

                                 

Spotlit abasement.

What would Alex Harvey do?

Decide to punch them

 

halfway through haiku.

A minute of fisticuffs,

then I continue.

 

999 call made;

inelegant stage diving

ensues, pursued by

 

cops the size of bears.

What would Willy Shakespeare do?

To be/Not to be

 

arrested.