Today's poem is by George Bilgere
When the smoking hot barrista
Pushes my toasted bagel across the counter to me
Without so much as a glance
Because all her pistils and stamens and sweet
Pink petals are on orange alert
For the punker next to me, Armaggedon
Tattooed on his arms, and furthermore
She's even forgotten the cream cheese,
Because I've reached the age
When I'm, like, totally invisible to her,
I briefly consider
Picking up the plate and smashing it
Through the countertop, sending a rain
Of glass onto the teabiscuits and cinnamon scones.
That'd show her, all right.
Then I remember
My summer as a feeder
In that nursing home back in L.A.,
Spooning whipped ham into the mouth-holes
Of those bedridden husks of papier mâché.
How sometimes the old guys would pull out
Their dentures and throw them across the room
Just for the hell of it, just to remind me
I'm still here, you little shit.
Thanks, I say
And walk back to my table.
Like I needed the cream cheese anyway.
Copyright © 2008 George Bilgere All rights reserved
from River Styx
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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