Young professionals and entrepreneurs--

I should be past that.

Sure, I can see the allure

of college girls, but who can’t?

And I don't have the energy, anyhow.

Early, as usual, waiting

and writing as others

text and meet and greet,

all wanting a larger-than-average

piece of the pie in the sky.

Five minutes to start, and I know

I won’t do well. As I even think

it somehow made sense

not to take an optional name-tag.

The heavy girl with an “XIV”

ankle tattoo (that intrigues me)

is not afraid to eat pizza

in front of others,

so I go get mine.

Hipsters in a holding pattern,

either destined to become

Brookfield Young Republicans

or Bay View Democrats.

Confident and annoying now,

ready to waste away

other people’s money

if given the chance.

And they’ll get it as they learn

how to wear untucked shirts,

pastels, and elbow pads?

without looking too young

or too gay. Their frayed-bottom

pants seemingly stylish--

mine holding me down.

A youngish couple read

a $1.7 million home listing--

I assume it’s to sell

but 6% will get him

a new nose ring

and pair of Addidases.

I know my problem is I’m writing

instead of networking.

Even the guy who looks like

an IT expert from Denmark

but with a shifty eye

is carrying on a conversations

about his future wealth.

I'm just carrying on this

inner monologue.