THERE’S been social media hand-wringing recently, wherein university poets craved “a place at the table.” The paltry number of women and black poets who had been reviewed in whichever journals the poets had been purchasing to read reviews upset them.

While there’s clearly disparity between the numbers of female poets I see at spoken-word events, and the wide range of backgrounds at many of these and the establishment spaces, I’ve never looked to “the table.”

Those who know what knife goes with which dish, and in which back, haven’t been overlooked. The likes of us are in the kitchen and serving the food and to then expect them to invite us to the same table is wishful thinking, at best.