A Poem About Hipsters

Tramp stamps on food stamps
These hipsters get my palms damp
Little Hitlers on bikes, a critical mass
Of pompous ass
But every one pretends they’re not one
A spectator, not a dictator of taste
A waste of a college degree
Same as me, too much humanities,
Your histrionics tire me
And you’ve got too much ink, I think
On your skinny arms; the only exercise you get is pumping irony
And I don’t drink your PBR
But I do what you do, I sink
Into the couch at the trendy coffee shop
With my laptop, but not a Mac, a Toshiba, black, writing poetry
No Starbuck’s for me
Unless I can’t see another place to get a fix
And get off on mental masturbation, the generation of verbal jism
Our nation of criticism
And lies I despise
Your Chrome bike bags
And hurl invective
At Animal Collective
But still go to Pitchfork
And drool
And thank God it’s finally cool
To be a dork

- Alfonso Mangione
  5/5/2010