Today at the craft store I saw a tall, septum pierced man
A young man of twenty, who probably drinks beer from a can
His hair black and slicked back, smoking probably his last
For today at least, or the hour perhaps
His mother was there, with afflictions of her own
Outside the dollar store

Ya' know, I used to call one my second home
Back before I was ******
When finery was a pressure
To be better because I was lagging
Oh, the complex days of elementary school.

Now I don't know where I stand
I've come straight out of the progressive oven of political awareness
I kinda get it now, but too much

My prejudice says "stop"
My anxiety says "turn"
My curiosity flames and the sides of my head burn

'Cause I'll be honest, he's kinda cute
and those judgments aren't mine anymore, so I'll set them loose
Let them all float away, what I have heard
For that kid isn't there anymore
Oh look, a bird.

I wonder what he was thinking,
or was he thinking of me at all?
This is such a long poem.
I wonder if he writes them.
Is he pursuing an education?
Does he eat meat?
Goodness, I'm so ******* weird.
But I'd like to find out, really though.