Weirdly, He’s Probably Like Me: Revolutionary Blogging Lament

I went to the Library,
a haven to write poetry
quietly.
Aren’t these supposed to be
since Carnegie?

He came loudly,
spoke telephonely,
passively aggressively
disturbing me.

I, politely,
gently,
shakingly,
said he was disturbing me
and my thoughtful creativity.

He was not happy,
confronting me
aggressively.
Sadly.

He is, probably,
weirdly,
a lot like me.
Us could be
a creative we.

But he’s rude
(or ignorant)
and I try not to be.

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