poem for a stand up guy, in beer

I could not listenfor the scraping retort. TheCackling;Hooting;the explosive Guffaw,Ears burning,pricked by stitching,Even the word‘Nipple’Arousing raw heightsof inanity,Spittled lips puckeredWetlyin rows, front and back,The spotlight trainedontired, spotted flesh,Stickingat the armpits,Small beer, short shrift,Arrivists in cashmereSweaters,Hanging on each word.Finally,it is not the metal tasteof fearwhich saws and stings –the spoon,the knife, the fork –It is the