the writing class

I ponder another writing class.

another meet up of poets and writers,
critics
with red pens, eager
to crush
your spirit and tell you
what you've written
needs work,
that you need to start all over
and try I again.

I think about it. new people.
new ideas,
new temporary friends
found in the high school
at night
in Arlington.
but i'm so easily annoyed these
days
by women and men.
the clique of them.
the audacity of them
critiquing me, pfffft.

maybe, maybe not. we'll see
what the next day brings.