I don’t hang out in bars a lot, and I don’t want to. But there are exceptions. Lately John has persuaded me to come with him to a few of the every-Friday night open mic/poetry sessions at a local club in the North End of Toledo. I pride myself on being open to new experiences, and this fits the bill. Stormi’s Trunk of Truth is at Franklin and Pearl. The first few times we went the door was locked, which seemed like a reasonable security precaution. Since wine did not seem like a wise option, on my first visit I nursed a brandy. The next time I failed to stop at the ATM and, despite the signage, we had to count out our change and small bills to cover a couple of beers. Last night we went for a special show, a collaboration with some Michigan poets. We were hungry and left at the break. I was surprised that I kind of wanted to stay.
Clearly the building has been re-purposed from either a storefront or, more likely, somebody’s house. The floor is black and white tile. The walls are paneled and hung with an assortment of posters. There’s a hand-painted mural (a tree, of course). The tables, chairs, and couches are frequently re-arranged to suit the crowd. Last night the restrooms, framed in at the back of what may was once have been the living room, had inexplicably been switched, resulting in the curious presence of a condom dispenser in the ladies’.
John plays his guitar when we go, but mostly it’s poetry. And with a couple of exceptions the poetry is wonderful. My favorites have involved “Namaste,” written and read by Dan Denton and a long hilarious piece by Arnie Koester about a Bangkok sex show. (I like a bit of humor with my poetry. ) I know I’m late to discover Bob Phillips, but I’m ready to listen and read more.
I’ve lived in Toledo since 1972, minus a few years in the late 70’s. It’s never boring.
Love the off the beaten path experiences.