sign me up!
i’m in a fucking
human zoo making
coffee with claws
for red-faced, sweaty,
creeps who don’t tip
me enough to entertain
inane conversation. at
least my fellow animals
write, complain, gossip,
all while sipping on iced
chugging water, and discussing
plans for outside the cage. i’m
in a human zoo, and the
sweaty schmucks that
press their lips against
the POS, ignoring the $1,
$2, $3 can kiss my ass.
NOT A BOP
i want to write a bop but i’ve got that
doom scrolling, shit your pants, nausea
vomit coming on because i finally realized i
left my comfy, tiny world behind
and all it took to realize it was
a little post on my close friends story
and i am flustered because i’ve been
in the city for four days and i have a
date tomorrow that i’ve gotta plan and
i’m probably not getting enough
vitamin D. ironically, i mean from the sun.
google best bars for under 25 near
the Dupont Circle metro stop.
i want to write a bop but i can’t because
i can’t relax enough to read or write poetry
and i can’t afford my credit card bill
and i love the silence but hate the eerie quiet
the trees don’t speak to me here the way
they did in the tiny town.
i need some electroshock therapy.
i think too much.
this is a bop, except i hate traditional form.
there is no third stanza, and only half a refrain.
the problem is not solved.
Mallory Payne (she/they) is a former peculiar barista and doting cat mom based out of D.C. You can find them lurking in a small corner of the internet on twitter @paynemal_.