On the last Thursday of every month, a basement café on the north side fills with people who have come to hear strangers read poems about rent.
The poets are in their twenties. Their work is political without being slogan-shaped: a poem about a landlord’s voicemail, a song about the sound of a night bus. They share it on cassettes and in zines stapled by hand.
“The old protest song assumed everyone was marching,” said one poet. “Ours assumes you are alone on the couch and angry, and want to feel less alone.”
Record labels have noticed. Several have signed collectives rather than individuals, and a compilation of the scene is due next spring.
