Now of Hipsters
Careful, picky herbivores – at least while others look –
they mimic artful poses from a famous obscure book.
They cannot stand the kitchen’s heat but snicker while you cook.
Their cigarettes are slim and French, their silhouettes are
Their fads are trad; their shirts are plaid. They sip absinthe,
and should you find the place they flock they’d never let you
An object of their mirth, you’re here on earth to let them
for Hipsters can outsnob the Snub, their snips eclipse the
Never, ever intimate their name derives from hype.
If you have any comments on this poem, Ed Shacklee
would be pleased to hear from you.