Even The Guy Throwing Darts Stopped Poem by Francie Lynch

I mentioned Monty Hall
In what I thought was casual conversation.
Maybe I interjected,
"...yeah, like Monty Hall."

But still,
A woman taking a drink of vodka gurgled,
A fella rolling a spliff snickered;
Even the dart thrower stopped;
They chorused in unison, "Who? "

"Shit! Monty Fecking Hall.
Door #'s 1,2,3? "

The gathering was taken aback.
Maybe it was the tone I used.
One face had a gesture of a glimmer of recognition
Tracing his pierced eyebrow.

"Really! Monty Fecking Hall."

One day there'll be a surprise,
And I'd like to be around to hear,
My grandkids inquire,
"What's a Fecking Jedi? "