my table is busted a sore sight to see and the metal-grill chair is as comfortable as a bed of needles. a pretty girl in a blue jacket and in maroon cords reads the school paper; she is in a trance. a small audience is watching a couple of college students playing five-minute chess. a young women on the other side of the room gazes at me over the rim of a white coffee cup.
i burnt myself this morning frying up french toast and the pain mingles with everything else like short-wave radio static. 1.3 GPA yells a figure with sideburns and a number of people in his group laugh until their heads fall off and someone has to come and put them back on.
sitting cross-legged on the carpet and from a distance it all looks like a game of charades, long, long hair and i find myself stare.
i am thinking of leaving PROTECT YOUR LOUNGE ENVIRONMENT TAKE THE TIME TO BUS YOUR OWN TRASH a famous musician enters, but no one recognizes him. a cloud hangs over, but then again maybe it's just the plumbing. my eyesight is shot everything in the distance all looks the same and now it is only my table that is different from the others.
-- zumwalt (1974) [reformatted for WordPress display]
zumpoems 