Poetry of Issue #7        Page 14

WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME?

You sat with people from work—
what serious people, too—
instead of me, so I took
a seat at the back

of the auditorium,
sulking, feet freezing. Fuck, I’d
forgotten my shoes! I slunk
to my room, awkward

blue oxfords, laces tangled
up like Bob Dylan, sloughed off
at the foot of the bed. On
they went. Out the door

& into the dark dead street
I flew, blind with love,
when it hit me:
the monster truck
you drove home
the point with.
 

  Matt Morris