A Portrait of the Man Reading The Bell Jar Next to the Fountain in the Liberal Arts Plaza by Julie Megason

He was, how do you say,

the type of man who takes up a full seat for his artisanal canvas backpack.

The type of specimen who gets out a physical notebook–

leather, obviously–

and pencil, only to scroll through his phone for all of lecture.

The type of man who skateboards, but doesn’t do tricks,

the archetypical Lovecraft apologist–

I think I’ve met him a hundred times.

He is most certainly a writer;

All of his protagonists are women.

He listens to “real music” and watches “real films”,

but seldom has real conversations.

His protagonists are girls as a shorthand signal that they will be– 

where it doesn’t matter–

Flat. 

His poems are short, written about different women,

but only after they’ve left.

There’s nothing wrong with having interests,

or in speaking like your prose,

but listen to my advice:

If you’re going to write girls,

Listen to girls,

and in general, be nice.

Or don’t– there’s nothing I can do on this page.

Just please, don’t explain Midsommar to me.

Again.