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.