Sergio Mayora blows into Weeds around nine o’clock. His hair’s in a ponytail, and he’s wearing OshKosh overalls, a white T-shirt, and dark sunglasses. He’s tall and wide and looks like he could lift a horse.
“Hey Sergio, that a union gut you got?” asks one of his patrons.
“No, really, how you doin’?”
“Better to look like shit than smell like piss,” Sergio says. “Oh man, you smell.”
“Whaddya want?”
I told him I was interested in writing a story about his bar’s Monday-night poetry readings. Weeds differs from other open mikes for a number of reasons: the poets are a mix of old-timers and newcomers, many of them are black and Latino, and often what they read is extremely offensive to nearly everyone. I asked Sergio, “Would it be OK if I came in tonight?”
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Since 1986 Monday has been poetry night at Weeds. Rudnick was the first emcee. Poets who came to read expected to be mocked and denigrated if their poetry was bad. Even if their poetry was good, there was always the chance they’d get booed off the stage. As with most open mikes, the poets tended to come and go. A flyer, designed by Sergio for a 1987 Valentine’s poetry night, lists some early Weeds poets: Chris “Man Defender” Chandler, “Sultry” Sue McDonald, John “the Cooler” Petrie, Sally “Shy” Baigi, Judith “Erotically Long” Loydd, Susie “Mellow” Greenspan, “and the one and only “I Hate All Lesbians’ Mr. Thurman Valentine.”
