Cut-Price Poetry

Cut-Price Poetry

Why am I drawn
to this scowling girl
selling her poems
in a Shinjuku underpass?

Every Tuesday she is here,
next to a Nikon ad,
threatening commuters
with her cyclostyled angst.

Busy people keep up
with the times,
do a tap dance
on their smartphones.

Only drunks buy poetry.
Grubbing for their last,
sweaty coins, they
mock her with every purchase.