i like it, but

everyone
has a book inside them. a story to tell.
so they write
and write.
they take a creative writing
course down
at the local
community college.
they hand in pages of their
tale,
the other students
chew it up, spit it out.
we like it, they say,
but it needs more work.
it needs
to go somewhere.
it's boring.
I don't care about these people,
these characters
in your story.
show don't tell.
then at the mid way point
of the class
everyone goes outside to smoke
cigarettes
and make awkward
conversation about nothing
in particular. after ten
minutes out in the cold,
they rub the lit butts
of their cigarettes
out under their
shoes, then go back in for more.