Poetry: "chewing the fat" by Linda M. Crate

they like to chew the fat

of life and meat and

chocolate,

but idle conversation never

really set well with

me;

i always wanted to know something

people wouldn't think to ask

like how many rings

were in their 

saturn

or did they have universes in their head

like mine?

or if they dreamed in pictures,

and thought in words

the way i do;

or what color their grandmother's eyes

were in a black and white photo

versus the real thing

or their deepest nightmare and brightest dream or

what lyric from what song they felt was written

just for them?

but they always looked at me like i was crazy—

like belle

i always had my nose in a book,

but could manage to walk and read all at once

without falling over;

they found me weird and hard to relate to

i always felt the same

as they kept chewing the same fat on a different day

never too concerned with anything deeper

than the weather.