Coffee House JamboreeJanuary 27, 2010 at 3:30 PM | Posted in Journal | Leave a comment
Tags: aging, life and death, poetry
But I don’t like the coffee
Where Suits and Hippies mingle.
A student writes a paper
And an artist sits and broods–
Because that’s what they do.
A young black businesswoman
And a gay Asian preppie are
Served by the perky goth chick
Who doesn’t get irony.
Stereotypes have run amok here,
At this intersection of life and caffeine–
And it lends to my feeling of hipness.
I feel very cool sitting here;
The atmosphere is electric,
Even with the old people
Who read the obits like racing forms.
What eluded me as a young man
I have finally achieved
And it’s bittersweet:
Middle-aged, fat, and cranky,
I’m cooler than I ever was when I was
Fresh-faced, wide-eyed, innocent and clumsy.
Now grizzled and wary on the outside,
Bitter and jaded on the inside–
I’ve developed layers.
I feel like a swollen Kurt Vonnegut,
Thinking deep thoughts of civil unrest
And a bagel thick with cream cheese.
The detached and disaffected youth
Think they are cool because
They are jaded and disgusted with society,
But they got nothing on the adults.
Listen, punks: if you think you are jaded now,
Let’s see how you feel after you
Helplessly pay taxes that you can’t afford
To a government you don’t trust
To pay for shit you don’t believe in
And your hopes and dreams fade away
Like your energy and good looks.
Your life and your youth will slip easily
From your fingers and be replaced with
Poor vision and knees that hurt all the time.
For over twenty years I’ve been an adult.
Or at least for the last two or three…
I don’t know if I’m more angry about
what is happening or that I can’t do
Anything about it.
Sitting here in shorts and black dress socks
And a shirt that doesn’t quite fit–
I am a rebel and an anarchist.
I feel very cool.
If only I could get the goth chick’s attention;
I need more coffee, but she thinks
I’m a creep because I stare at her cleavage.
I’m not really a pervert. Well, maybe.
It just reminds me of the promise of youth–
Christ, I need some decaf.
You can all snap your fingers now.