A dusty note pad


Amidst the dust and cold I sit. There's not that much to do here, except to write... a lot. My pen and notepad intrigues them.

"Wadda you doin'," one asks with gentle derision. "Writin' a novel?"

"Yep, that's exactly what I'm doing," I tell him. "right here right now, writing a novel."

"Oh" he says, "I was only kiddin', I didn't think you were actually writin' one."

Well, I think to myself, it's better than listening to your bad jokes.

They think I'm strange, they think I'm different. I don't think it, I know it!

And from above another voice asks down to me, "wadda ya doin', writin' love poems?"



Words by Eli The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2009-05-07 at 18:42

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:-D This just says a whole lot somehow... I makes me smile -- the tone of it does ... somewhere between exasperation and defiance. Also I know the scene so well - I'm one of the strange..
2009-05-08