It’s 3 a.m. and you’re starting to feel the jones. Your personal stash of Longfellow is long gone, your tomes of Emerson worked over ragged. Heck, you’ve even thumbed through your girlfriend’s Dickinson, surfed the Internet for cheap haiku, but you’ve still got an empty, hungry pit in your stomach. You need it, you need it now: poetry.
Fortunately, you live in Wallingford, which is home to no fewer than three, count them three, separate places where you can enjoy poetry on the street at any hour. We just discovered the third, so we thought we’d offer up our review …