That guy

I’m that guy
who hogs the four-seat table,
with his pad n’ pen,
looking completely outta place…
coffee was a bad choice.

Even the Christmas tree
leans in for a stare,
but when I go to meet it
it whistles and blinks at an awkwardly rapid pace.

He just wishes
he was as cool as me,
droppin’ lines
insteada spines.
Come January, you’re spent.


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