Every night I stand behind invisible
glass. I check stubs like a breathing
barcode scanner. I watch the window
echo the beat, but just this once I’d like
to see the show.
I fall in love with every empty-headed
hipster douche winking as he walks
past. Something about tight pants
and the waxed stache and a promise
that I’d be miserable with you.
Irony is for the parents of hopped-up
kids that thought a college degree
guarantees a real job. Instead they spend
allowances on moustache wax and
tickets to concerts played by
same-brained mirrors claiming diversity
is a different reference on a T-shirt.
PAD Challenge 6: Write from another’s perspective