On Postmodernity

It's a trap.
The door is unlocked on purpose.
Before you know it, you're
turning the knob and suddenly!
you're in the middle of
a bad poem, and everyone
is looking at you
'cos you walked in late
and that annoys everyone.
How dare you be so
fucking vulnerable!
Don't start laughing--
I know it's hard. Truly,
I'm there with you,
but I can't help you right now--
I'm in the middle of reading this poem,

.....
....
...
..
.

suddenly distracted by the thought
of cookies--warm, hot, melty
chocolate chip cookies.
It's a trap.
The door is unlocked on purpose.
I'm supposed to lose my train of thought
and stop speaking altogether in
three seconds.
1...2...3.