the writer's group

i join

the Wednesday night writers' group

at the local school,

Franklin Elementary,

7 until 9 pm.

unless it snows.

there's a picture

of Benjamin

Franklin

on the wall.

i'm angry at myself

for doing so.

i'm not above

this

or below this, i just feel

out of place,

like i don't

belong.

i say nothing and sit

there

like a stone.

slowly

i make myself smaller

and check

the nearest exit.

maybe i can get at least

one pedestrian

poem

out of this before i

sneak out,

but these two hours

are so long,

and the desks

so small.