Unsolicited Salutation Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

As I was discussing
Tailored tales to a friend
With a cigarette dangling
In between his lips,
A man – perhaps of teenage
Years, very ripe
And invulnerable, approached
Us as we were seated on
A misshapen russet chair
And said,
”I always read your pieces!
I adore them! ”
My friend nodded,
And I was obliged to nod as well.
The kid stormed away
Without ever really knowing
The two of us.

I said,
”Do you believe that,
Norman? ”
I swore, his promontories
Flared as he said,
”I wonder. Was he a filter,
A sponge, or just a flimsy
Avid reader? ”
I’ve not a single clue
About this
But the way he said
He always reads our
Poems,
And purple, bruised
Prose
Gave me the impression
That he reads them
The wrong way.

To be deemed great
Or adept,
There must be something
Wrong with me,
With us.

I could have smiled
At him sinisterly
If he said,
You guys are the best
Amateur-boxers
Or
You crazed fools are
The masters of
Pursuing women
Or
You are the
Connoisseurs in
The language of
Dance

But we aren’t
We are just broken souls
And trust me,
This whole thing:
To flatter
And be flattered
Does not inspire me,
And I bet it does not
Inspire him either.

We just want to be
Dead, and that’s
All there is to it.