While I was taking out my books from my locker I heard three students reading their poems aloud, one after the other.
There were two girls and a boy.
Our budding poet read his poem about traffic along Route wherever. The kind that says, "F*ck the traffic! F*ck the cars! F*ck the oil prices" etc. And I know how "bad" it was if we have to judge the rhythm and form.
Then, one of our girls said, "I wrote this poem when my suitemate was having sex with her boyfriend in the shower." Her voice girlish.
Her poetess-friend asked, "What's wrong with having sex in the shower?"
She replied, "Nothing, really."
Her friend said, "I like having sex in the shower."
The poetess-reader said, "Me, too."
Our boy was just silent. Now, that's poetic.
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