Oh, and I’ve been picking through the third volume of Peter Reading’s Collected Poems (1997-2003). It’s fantastic in all sorts of ways, and it vexes me considerably that I only found out about him after he died.
Only wanted to say for the moment, this poem really nails it:
At the Reading
The sham-coy simper,
the complacency
the frisson titters,
the sycophancy.
Posted by tom 
The Idiot and The Dog 