Sipping Guinness in a park-side garden
I realise with rapid clarity
that everybody is in love with you
stories have been written about you in class
songs have been penned in late night agony
permanent markers blunted on the back of train seats
standing out from the crowd has never been harder
there are no t-shirts that will turn your head
no hair cuts that you will solicit.
You tell me about your latest girlfriend
and how she works in an art gallery
I picture her in auburn, surrounded by Rothko.
If I was fifteen, this would kill me
but today it just takes the shine off
and the Guinness goes down a little easier.
There are things I care about, but these days
they get lost in lists, they exist –
but underneath napkins scrawled with 5-year-plans.
While I was sleeping, I seem to have become
the kind of person who turns the music down.
In other words, she can have you.