Por Glenda Galán

Compartí con Scott en el Miami Performance International Festival 2012, donde me habló sobre O’Miami, un evento que se lleva a cabo anualmente de la mano de este joven poeta de Miami y que busca llenar de poesía todos los rincones de esta ciudad; desde los trenes, hasta las etiquetas en las ropas de tiendas vintage.
O’Miami se ha convertido en el espacio más importante para que los poetas locales e internacionales compartan con el público su poesía durante todo el mes en el que se llevan a cabo un sinnúmero de eventos, presentaciones y sorpresas en torno al mundo de la poesía.
Aquí uno de los poemas de Scoot:

The Colonel
What you have heard is true. I was in his house. There was a kidney-shaped pool and a Donkey Kong, Jr arcade game. We sat in the living room. His wife brought out a tray of mint juleps and a plate of Extra Crispy dark. A remote control sat on the base of a bowling trophy. With a gigantic paper napkin covering his white suit and black bolo tie, he picked up the pieces of chicken one by one, cleaning the bones dry in exaggerated sucking motions then breaking them and slurping the marrow. My friend said to me with his eyes: say nothing. There was talk of Dave Thomas. The Colonel said what was served in America in the shadow of his visage was slop. His wife took everything away. On the television was a commercial. It wasn’t him. It was Randy Quaid. There is no other way to say this. The Colonel told Randy to shut the fuck up, then lifted his heavy body from the couch and disappeared. He came back with an unmarked bag and turned it over, spilling a mass of chicken strips onto the coffee table. They looked like human fingers. He took one and dropped it into a glass of cola and, in a few minutes, pulled out what appeared to be half of a beak. I am tired of fooling around, he said. I’m forming a legal team. We have case studies, an office outside Lexington. He swept the strips off the table and held the beak in the air. We’re looking for a poet to write our anthem! Meanwhile, my friend and I were on the carpet, picking up the chicken strips and eating them. Five second rule, we said.