Monday, November 16, 2015

poem of the day 11.16.15

her world

she shouts across
the comic book store
to her husband/boyfriend
cisgendered plutonic maybe special someone
he just yelled at me because i was sitting on the floor
although everyone within earshot
knows that’s not the case
how he politely leaned over and said
miss, you can’t sit on the floor
as if he were saying excuse me for belching
like it was him not her
sitting there in the middle of the crowded comic book shop
queen of her own little world
feet stretched out like she was getting ready for a run
knock-off louis vuitton bought in chinatown bag scattered here
red starbucks cup with no discernable holiday symbol
empty and upturned there
playing on her cell phone like a good automaton
but maybe she’s tweeting something
heartfelt about paris
telling everyone on facebook that terrorism
happens in beirut too, you know
while changing her profile pic to blue white and red
perhaps she’s instagramming a photo
of homelessness run rampant in new york
starving kids….that kind of pull at the heartstrings stuff
i mean you can’t just stand somewhere and post that shit
being profound i.e. equals sitting the fuck down
be it a comic book store
or the curb round the block
most likely she’s posting something mean
about her boyfriend/husband/cisgendered
plutonic maybe special someone
dragging her ass into a comic book store off all things
on their one and only trip to the big apple
so he could pick through batman comics
instead of going to the top of the rock
times square or the 9/11 memorial
and this effete, bearded maybe gay/bi/poly
wispy, bearded, big glasses, plaid shirted geek
nerd, looks french, probably knows where
beirut actually is know-it-all with his soft voice
picked the wrong time to tell her to do anything
save go and find someone to kiss her ass
who then has the audacity to apologize
and tell her that sitting on the floor is a fire hazard
i mean, what the fuck, she says
to her friend
who says, just stick out your belly
and pretend you’re pregnant
because america loves expectant moms
as she crawls up from the floor
yoga stretch pants showing the top of her pale ass
clutching knock-off louis v bag
yet somehow still playing away on her cell phone
like some kind of anatomical anomaly
leaving boyfriend to his comics
leaving comic book store employee to his measly salary
and leaving the red starbucks cup behind
in silent protest
as if to say simply
i am


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