NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Seven, Poem Twenty-One

Pantoum

The aging hipster stands and hopes to speak
He knows to wait all that he can do.
The open mic list already full,
young poets talk way past allotted time.

He knows to wait is all that he can do
before they scrutinize his words.
Young poets talk way past allotted time.
Crowd half-listens over each other's private jokes.

before they scrutinize his words
Since when could words hurt like police batons?
Crowd half-listens over each other's private jokes.
They watch his words like coins, in search for slugs.

Since when could words hurt like police batons,
his bombs of books unwanted on his shelf?
They watch his words like coins, in search for slugs.
not trusting anyone who sticks around.

His bombs of books unwanted on his shelf,
His woman, who gave up the scene and him.
Not trusting anyone who sticks around,
young ladies giggle at his tattered sonnet verse.

His woman, who gave up the scene and him.
The open mic list already full.
Young ladies giggle at his tattered sonnet verse.
The aging hipster sits and hopes to speak.