A Poem About Trying to Talk to Strangers About Stuff

First I should describe the décor

And the posters labeled with various forms of ambition, on top of mountaintops

That

Filled the walls

I made no eye contact

Once

Twice

When I did, I felt like a fraud, because I knew I was looking at her with a complete sense of assurance

This is me

These are my feelings

But I’m here because I don’t feel so assured

But this is me

These are my feelings

Her sandals were beige suede, with silver studs

A purple cardigan draped over her chair

And as she asked me what I wanted to work on

I said I don’t know

And stared at her bookshelf

“Know thyself”

it said.