Losers

by Zipporah Stankovich


They rub frantically at their bodies
sweating like animals
the fragrance of grease in the air
hair unwashed, but sleek
assholes shining from yesterday’s dump

convinced they are beautiful,
convinced they are special,
convinced they are the sons and daughters
of Hemingway and Oates

they think they’re classy;
clean shave and perfume,
covering the ghastly odor
of too much sleep
and too much time
wasted sitting at their desks with their
1 dollar notebooks and their 10 dollar pens

pretentious fucking teenagers
grasping at the chance to quote
a quote we’ve heard so many times
we don’t know who said it first

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