Jul 2017
There are few things I hate more than watercolor,
I muse to myself
As I sit watching
A rigid man
With the perfect posture, really,
Casually watercolor the coffee shop around him
As if we all are just the backdrop
To a life of routine normality
Succumbing to the occasional confrontation
With hot beats of caffeine--
A subject to be posthumously entombed
Executed marginally
Flattened and kept in a sketchbook
That will,
Most likely,
Be a dust collector given one year's breadth.
The cynic in me
Hopes he mistakes the water cup
For his coffee cup
In his feverish efforts,
Sitting slack and unaware
Right next door.
But unintentionally,
It's the bias
Creeping in.
Secretly,
I've never really been
That *good
at watercolor.
I muse to myself
As I sit watching
A rigid man
With the perfect posture, really,
Casually watercolor the coffee shop around him
As if we all are just the backdrop
To a life of routine normality
Succumbing to the occasional confrontation
With hot beats of caffeine--
A subject to be posthumously entombed
Executed marginally
Flattened and kept in a sketchbook
That will,
Most likely,
Be a dust collector given one year's breadth.
The cynic in me
Hopes he mistakes the water cup
For his coffee cup
In his feverish efforts,
Sitting slack and unaware
Right next door.
But unintentionally,
It's the bias
Creeping in.
Secretly,
I've never really been
That *good
at watercolor.
