Standing in line for a morning cup
After a pot or two, I’ll be content
But you’re holding up progress
Your specialty is causing me to resent
My anger is slow to rise
But the barista is soaking in your beauty
The rest of us are dying of fatigue & thirst
All the while methinks you’re a bit too snooty
Searching cavernous souls
Racking what I might believe
Splitting hairs of fragrant
Ideas wandering down my sleeve
But I’m not more righteous
Than the boys down on the beat
I’m flawed, sensitive – prone to anger
Stuck in a commuting rut; weakly on repeat
There’s quiet secret I might contain
Love & passion bubbling just beneath my skin
I think in poetry, but you desire a hero
Can’t compete with expectations; our mutual chagrin
Trying to find the proper tense
& then his anger rises
Can’t deal with these people
Mirrored statements of all he despises
Simple logic wasted around here
An abyss filled with what they don’t know
Shocking & devastatingly stupid
Then you realize they’re all a show
Captain Q 