Is a conversation a poem?

"I'll bare my cross" said the young man "Hell boy, you sure you can? We all been jilted" Said the old timer as he tilted back in his stool "It ain't no crime to share the pain" But the young man wasn't listening He stared through the window As he stared through the rain "You don't understand, she was my night and day" The old timer paused... His brow wrinkled that way The way it always did when he thought He had something profound to say "Don't try and make me feel better" The young man muttered His hand moving to the letter Which sat next to his heart "She told me she'd met someone else" He laughed an angry laugh "Some fucker who studies art" ...There was a pause in the conversation But the silence revealed no comforting revelation... "So you moving on? You going away?" But the young man wasn't listening "To hell with that bitch, I'll show her I'll make her pay" The old man's brow creased in that special way "You know everywhere's the same It's just geography makes it different" The young man turned, an incredulous look passed across his face then went ... He held the bottle of beer to his lips And memories flashed before his eyes like movie clips... He turned to face the old timer, his brow wrinkling In that special way, he smiled A softer smile and said... "I never liked geography anyway"OK. The title says it all really. This dribbled out of my head in the wee hours of the morning. Not really sure what it's about though. Written September 25th, 2001 © on Sep 25 2001 06:58 AM PST   0 • 8