2nd try at a Poetry Reading at laughing goat

we waited a moment to honor a dead poet
who didn't write such trash as this, who
needs to use such words, such ugly words.
she turned in her grave to look west
from her home town grave towards the mountains,
aghast that they honored her like this,
the microphone went dead, the lights flickered,
an empty chair scraped across the floor,
she made her case and disappeared into the
darkest wind rushing back to fill her place.