Charlapalooza Memories
October, 2006. The gauntlet had been thrown, and Charla and I prepared for the mental gymnastics that were soon to follow. Two poets enter. . . well, two poets leave. As far as I know, no one’s brain has ever exploded from Charlapalooza. But only one poet will be victorious, their reward the knowledge that they have mastered the art of pulling a poem out of their ass. It didn’t matter that my highest level of poetic training was high school AP English, or that I had never willingly written a poem in my life. What mattered was the blood-thirsty fans that threw the most ridiculous topics at us, yet not once did I cry uncle– not even when the topic of BANANA HAMMOCKS was...