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I found myself at another shop, a ritual of mine, pondering its wares, as if I were actually interested. The whole song-and-dance was routine by now. I finally got to the section I was wanting, and the small bin sat there, waiting for me. The mass of colors and styles and shapes and sizes were making my selection difficult; they all had such different appeals to them, such different ways others would judge them, judge me for wearing them. After finding something to my liking, I slipped it inside my jacket pocket, already adorn with many of its brothers and sisters, coming from several different locations, different times, different people. I hurriedly left, ignoring the cashier’s bored “see ya next time.” At the food court, I sat, meeting with my friends. I sit, observe as they speak. Much like the bin at the shop, I look for something in them. A hobby, an interest, an accent even, just to call my own. Finally, a joke is made, relating to a teacher, and I got it. I smiled to myself, ready to incorporate what I had stolen from my friend.
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Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 11:39 AM UTC
The Patch
I found myself at another shop, a ritual of mine, pondering its wares, as if I were actually interested. The whole song-and-dance was routine by now. I finally got to the section I was wanting, and the small bin sat there, waiting for me. The mass of colors and styles and shapes and sizes were making my selection difficult; they all had such different appeals to them, such different ways others would judge them, judge me for wearing them. After finding something to my liking, I slipped it inside my jacket pocket, already adorn with many of its brothers and sisters, coming from several different locations, different times, different people. I hurriedly left, ignoring the cashier’s bored “see ya next time.” At the food court, I sat, meeting with my friends. I sit, observe as they speak. Much like the bin at the shop, I look for something in them. A hobby, an interest, an accent even, just to call my own. Finally, a joke is made, relating to a teacher, and I got it. I smiled to myself, ready to incorporate what I had stolen from my friend.
Part 4 of 4 of four works I did for an emulation portfolio. This poem is an emulation of the style from David Ignatow's “The Bagel.”
#patch#patches#jacket
Chris_Bee
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Chris_Bee
No Where
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 11:39 AM UTC
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