Baby’s first poem

After a night out on the town

So

Got drunk in a shy way

Whole table to myself I guess it’s

The right way

To go out alone

On a night when no one goes out

Except me

And four hundred cool people with pierced ears

And me

I’m not like them which is fine but they don’t wanna talk to me

Or maybe I don’t want to talk

To them

Writing a poem sure seems chic

How many words count as writing

And which ones are just thinking

There’s a baby asleep on the train

At this hour?

The man whose book party I went to came into the pizza restaurant

I’d already made a name for myself

He’s kind of handsome

To be honest

I peed at the tube station

It’s outside so it’s fine

I still have a jubel peach in my bag

And all the waiters love me

Is the only way to write poetry this way

The man with the fedora on the train seems to think so

You could have me tonight

If you wanted to have me

You probably don’t

I wouldn’t

I mean I would but

I don’t have great taste so