You walk into Burger King and order a diet coke.  You take a seat next to a family of four who don’t say a word to each other and a man whose cheeseburger is apparently too valuable a conversation partner to waste by eating it.  Sipping pensively on your drink you begin writing poetry on a napkin, visions of it being published someday in a literary magazine and its eventual inclusion in a voluminous compilation of your life’s written works dancing in your head.

The Game

Lives float by like paper bags

I reach up and catch one, then release it again

The game is called love and we're all players

Some win, some lose and some don't play at all

"Is it cheating to use a net?" You whisper

"No, but it is quality, not quantity," I reply

One man's trash is another man's treasure

We are all lost...

Eager to hear an objective opinion of your work, you walk up to a man quietly perusing the menu at the order counter.

“Want to read a poem I just wrote?” you say with a hint of sarcasm, as if you don't really care all that much.

The man stares at the napkin for a second, then at you, takes it and begins to read.