I’m sorry, but I don’t like chitchat.
I understand its function, that
it stitches us together,
this talk of babies and of weather,
but still I find I just don’t care
what crazy shirt you chose to wear
to your husband's office party.
Would it help to say I'm arty?
I realize you are dying to share
details of your '60 Corvair'
and every car you’ve driven since.
The very prospect makes me wince.
These details offer social glue.
You even feel they make you you--
you're manifest in every snippet.
Still, let’s skip it.