You find the ordinary in the extraordinary,

sitting like a sort of Buddha on a lumpy couch, harvesting ugliness

while pretending you are fascinating. I haven’t traveled much,

but I hear there are far-off lands where the people would sigh in fascination

at your kind. Well, here you are as exotic as a French fry.

To be fair, I’ve always had an unhealthy thing for French fries.

But you – you’re not even a McDonald’s guilty pleasure.

You’re a nameless Midtown deli’s flaccid excuse, and I’m not even hungry.