A poet walks into a bar
And that’s all
That’s the joke because you see
The funny thing is
The poet is at home
She is sitting in her sweatpants with her hair up in a terrible bun
Impressions of her eyelashes
Copied onto her skin from her day old mascara
A bottle of the cheapest moscato available
Poured into a lipstick stained coffee mug
She is typing her fingers to nubs
Wracking her brain for words that rhyme
Words that are perfect
Words that will appropriately tell the world
To fuck off