Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
my words don't fit my words don't fit my words don't fit my words don't fit mY words don't fit mY w0rds don't fit mY w0rds don't fit mY w0rds doN't fit mY w0rds doN't fit mY w0rds doN't fiT mY w0rds doN't fiT mY W0rds d0N't fiT mY W0Rds D0N't fIT M Y    W O R D S      D O N ' T        F I T
she is poetry and romance
this, i know, is true
but does she see poetry like i
in every crevice of you?
 Sep 2018 Stephe Watson
Zen Dog
He rolls up smiling in his finely detailed luxury convertible with the executive package. He checks his watch frequently as he has many things to do, but he also likes to look at it. He likes to look at other people looking at it too. Nothing but the finest for him. From his italian leather belt to his perfectly creased tailor fit khaki slacks. He has his dress shirt tucked in and power jacket on to show that he's all business, but no tie.. Never a tie, because the lack of one keeps him hip and real and young. He's living the life, he thinks to himself, a forty-four year old bachelor, all the money in the world, and a full head of hair.
He didn't hold the door for the lady walking behind him as he entered the store and she was left scrambling to catch the handle. He suddenly seemed awfully alone in the world he created. So much so that he doesn't even notice the rest of us. Then he exchanged some demeaning words with the cashier for taking too long when counting change and I realized he wasn't happy either.  He glanced at me as he left and as our eyes met I wondered what my face said to him... If anything at all.

— The End —