Chris G. Vaillancourt (April 5,1959 / Canada)
A World Of Talkers
Sorry to interfere with you lunch hour,
but I felt it necessary to open your mind.
I spiked your cupcakes with reality.
You can call me a name if you want to.
Must be the time of the month.
Some liberated woman was yelling
at me for lighting her cigarette.
Seems she talks equality but not courtesy.
One of my teachers spoke to me of
purpose and papers. Told me the
marks I received and the degree I had earned
would make me a better person.
The man downtown in the unemployment line
knew more about real life than me.
This did not matter though, for I had
my University generated degree.
People speaking their silliness.
Taking every illusion seriously.
Speaking importantly about any
number of unimportant things.
Too many messages to absorb and read.
Into the depths of nothingness rides
the majority of us who are afraid
to speak our individual truths.
It seems as if I am wrong.
Or at least, not wise at all.
I was taught money was where it was at.
I shake my head in wonder.
I am wrong, for I care more for people
than the size of their bank accounts.
Comments about this poem (A World Of Talkers by Chris G. Vaillancourt )
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