The Serious Poet
She told me, “I am serious poet”.
Then took another picture for her Instagram.
Apparently the world needed to know what she was having for lunch.
She was very hip to talk about her importance and to take another half dressed bathroom selfie.
She sat next to me and I never noticed when she at last vanished into the crowd.
I never knew her words.
And I assume the rest of the world wouldn’t recall them either.
I cut jokes wrote about the perverts and weirdos that surrounded me.
And sometimes I wrote about other people too.
I didn’t have a Instagram.
I guess I wasn’t a serious poet.
I lost no sleep that night.
And the following night either.
The woman I spoke of gained fifty followers for showing her ass.
The world was filled with idiots ever to eager to feed the delusional fools ego.
I didn’t reach for my cell to capture life’s every moment.
I preferred to reach for a beer instead.