The yuppies are by the
Cotto Café, asking those
not to call them hipsters.
An auburn feminist drinks
Mexican blend, black, while
reading Margaret Atwood.
I gave up smoking, I say,
about a month ago.
No one really listens, which
I sometimes find comforting.
After I walk my isolation off,
I stumble into a Taco Bell;
one of those hybrids: this time
KFC. The cashier is curly in the
way that broken legs are curly.
Her eyes are green but I dare
not objectify her, I hope I don't
say out loud, because I fear
nothing more than being
patronizing.
Construction loudly stutters
and cars squeak and shush.
On this griddle of a sidewalk,
I feel alone. Vehicles vroom
while I stand silent, a monument
to my generation.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
The yuppies are by the
Cotto Café, asking those
not to call them hipsters.
An auburn feminist drinks
Mexican blend, black, while
reading Margaret Atwood.
I gave up smoking, I say,
about a month ago.
No one really listens, which
I sometimes find comforting.
After I walk my isolation off,
I stumble into a Taco Bell;
one of those hybrids: this time
KFC. The cashier is curly in the
way that broken legs are curly.
Her eyes are green but I dare
not objectify her, I hope I don't
say out loud, because I fear
nothing more than being
patronizing.
Construction loudly stutters
and cars squeak and shush.
On this griddle of a sidewalk,
I feel alone. Vehicles vroom
while I stand silent, a monument
to my generation.
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