Jane Bond Cafe,Uptown Waterloo, February-mid, 2008
At the bar I sit, thoughts the only company I desire. Then in she steps, ripping through my small canvas of time,
halting my nakin paged poem.
In tote, she has some tall nameless important guy.
I look up, rest the pen on a coaster.Lips do their best to fake
a minor toss of delight their way.She sees what I am doing,
wants to showcase familial talent. I chuckle inside.
His eyes pop out, I see where this is going.
I toss the napkin, he reads a little,
his brow begins to buckle.
She'll shrug her shoulders at this point.
Be too cooland betray me.
I wait for it. It always backfired in the past. But it continues.She tried hard to be proud, to a point. I hear her voice.
'if she were thinner
she would bereally pretty'
And the lemmings around her would all agree.
I humbly appear, as always. She has no clue what I know.'if she had any depth she would be
really ugly.'
Nameless nods a few times, 'its uh, really great.'She doesn't know what it means either, I am sure. So she might as well call it shit.
'she's done better ones than this'
For a moment, I enjoy
quiet, secret, personal humour, among the best kinds.
With a grab of the pen I get up, say my goodbyes,
and carry on into the street. I leave the bar, with pen, napkin and smirk.A scribble scratched off the edge of a page.
This poem's for you, Sellout Sista
At the bar I sit, thoughts the only company I desire. Then in she steps, ripping through my small canvas of time,
halting my nakin paged poem.
In tote, she has some tall nameless important guy.
I look up, rest the pen on a coaster.Lips do their best to fake
a minor toss of delight their way.She sees what I am doing,
wants to showcase familial talent. I chuckle inside.
His eyes pop out, I see where this is going.
I toss the napkin, he reads a little,
his brow begins to buckle.
She'll shrug her shoulders at this point.
Be too cooland betray me.
I wait for it. It always backfired in the past. But it continues.She tried hard to be proud, to a point. I hear her voice.
'if she were thinner
she would bereally pretty'
And the lemmings around her would all agree.
I humbly appear, as always. She has no clue what I know.'if she had any depth she would be
really ugly.'
Nameless nods a few times, 'its uh, really great.'She doesn't know what it means either, I am sure. So she might as well call it shit.
'she's done better ones than this'
For a moment, I enjoy
quiet, secret, personal humour, among the best kinds.
With a grab of the pen I get up, say my goodbyes,
and carry on into the street. I leave the bar, with pen, napkin and smirk.A scribble scratched off the edge of a page.
This poem's for you, Sellout Sista
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