Poem: His Name Is Gary...

(or so he says) though the cup of

McDonald’s coffee says

enough. I hide my book on

the table in an effort to listen, regardless

of interest. It’s a real battle: the bottle – it is

hard telling drink to stay away. My head nods

(as if to understand) my eyes lie along with

my lips, the rest of my face shows a lack of

authenticity. A weak smile from Gary is his

only…