When the tables have turned.

On the bus,
I looked up and saw man
peering at me.
He took out a notebook
and started writing.

How strange to be
on the other side.

Baklava

Am I getting dumber?

I ask,
as crumbs litter my shirt,
as my fingernail gets dirtier,
as the dessert cup gets cleaner,
and I cannot figure out why
people should read books.