the poem

la paloma is sleepy and empty. in the cybercafe, kids relieve their boredom playing mindless games on the buzzing computers. my inbox is full to the brim with spam and bank notices and lawyers and art shows. but buried in the mess i find a poem. poem. as everybody knows here at ladelentes we hate all kinds of poetry. still, i read the poem. read the poem. and i still haven't quite managed to keep a small smile from sitting on the right-hand corner of my mouth. tickling me.