Small Talk

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Small Talk

I used to think I had to talk.

You know, to fill the room.

Say something random

As if it’s better than silence.

Strange, if you ask me.


An awkward sip or two... Three?

Staring around, commenting,

“Days have weather, don’t they?”

A fourth sip? Maybe. Sure.

Strange, if you ask me.


I hate it now, small talk.

It’s silly even, I think.

We know what to say,

But don’t know why we do.

Strange, if you ask me.


Why do we care so much?

To be heard, I mean,

By anyone, it seems.

Perhaps by someone like you?

Strange, if you ask me.


Feeling now above a chat,

I hide away intending to write,

Wondering what compels me

To put words on a page

Strange, if

Billy Collins’ Masterclass lectures helped me explore poetry in a vastly different way than before. I couldn’t recommend this and Masterclass in general more.