“What used to be here” is our favorite game.We talk through concerts, movies, church and plays
And fall asleep at operas without shame.
We drop the F bomb like it’s punctuation.
We only gossip when it’s libelous.
We strut like God owes us a coronation
And stroll like cars are jaywalking, not us.
Our critics either pan or overrate.
(They only read each other anyway.)
It takes us weeks to make a dinner date
Yet if our meal is late, there’s hell to pay.
Not giving up deserves the triple crown—
But no one ever really wins this town.
Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells