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