Shit Poetry

Time hurries on

Shit poetry, is what I've begun to write

Like the art on this coffeehouse wall

A metronome, a carnation, a french horn,

And something I can't quite make out

Because of the glare from the marbled glass window

It was painted by someone whose name

Is too hasty to read, in 1978

And I am too lazy and self-conscious

To walk across the coffeehouse to look closer

I don't want that kind of attention

On me; What is she doing?

Too many eyes here, and all too

Close in years to highschool

To have learned how to judge privately

But, shit poetry is popular these days,

I am eating tiramisu gelato

But I think the barista used a dirty scoop

To shell it out.  There are hints

Of cherry in it; Someone else's choice.

I'm glad I'm too docile to mind

The Christmas decorations on the wall

They are ugly, and it is April

I wonder if anyone notices them?

Except shit poets like me.

The frenzied Indian techno music

Bores through the piano tones from my iPod

I am a snob; an armchair intellectual

Sitting in a coffeehouse, eating gelato,

Drinking coffee, and writing shit poetry.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written April, 2008.  Title speaks for itself.

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