or was it only me a guy I knew?


—and they are laying down metal bars of pressured speech

in an intricate back of the school bus reticulum


—and they are certainly loud enough to seem like they are divvying

up their ideas for the community at large


—and he hears them and would like to join their conversation

on a topic he actually finds quite interesting, but to do so would admit

his flagrant eavesdrop


—and they even think he seems all right, they might even be willing to talk to him,

but it should be noted that he just sits there two rows in front of them and initiates



—and they think he must feel pretty damn good about himself, sitting there all smug

like he’s too good for them, like he doesn’t need anything from them to survive


—and he bears them no ill will, right now he doesn’t feel too good for much of anything


—and over the weeks of conversation en passant maybe there were opportunities

for him to raise his head


—and over the months of his skilled ears’ blind localization, maybe he does start to feel

like he doesn’t need them, what are they, too good to invite him into their 10^2 dB range



—and maybe he even starts thinking that they are a bunch of awful, vacuous motherfuckers,

indexing synonyms for “waste of space”


—and he might be right, but do you think that’s any real excuse


—and now they know for sure they don’t want to talk to him, they’d much prefer to drown him

in their bumblebee ocean


—and now everybody can see just fine what’s going on over here, and nobody bothers to call it

a tragedy


—and blame is such a compelling debate for he and they and us


—and it worries me to think too long, can we blame the media for this