The Hipsters and My Beer

The Hipsters Sit. Being Hip
I know because they tell me
Their wine glasses
Their black glasses
Their pompous asses
Long bangs tucked.
Right ear
Everyone
Leaning left
Clogging the path to my beer.
My Sierra Nevada
My Pale Ale
I walk straight ahead, lowered head
As if they even care
Slouched neck sweater, Chelsea boot doesn’t even flinch
not an inch
As if I’m not there. Yearning. Burning.
For my Sierra Nevada
My Pale Ale
Shiny toe striped, popped collar, slides
It’s not cool to stir. Not a
Hipster
But Slouch neck sweater sits proud
Not loud.
Clearly he is the one with the girl.
Dark hair, bangs short
Spaghetti strap summer dress in fall
Sexy. Tall.
Sitting next to slicked back all in black
Skinny jeans cause he knows what it means
($65 dollars at American Apparel
and, he don’t give a damn)
Cardigan. Come again.
Legs crossed shoulders in
Yes Sir. You are hip, sir.
A hipster
Now can I get my Sierra Nevada?
My
Pale Ale