Whaddup, they say.
What you doin today.
Gettin bored, by the way.
How are you?
I’m cool, too.
Nothin I wanna do.
What you up to.
But what I can’t tell you and what you don’t know
is that I don’t desire to hear how your morning goes –
or what you ate for breakfast or what game you played
or about what’s on TV or what whoops this celeb made.
What you gonna wear.
The weather is fair.
So don’t tell me about the safe and mediocre details
of the humdrum day of which you so complain.
Don’t tell me what so-and-so wore or the new CD
or about the job or the show or the fans or the rain.
Tell me about what makes your soul sing.
Tell me about what sets fire in your blood.
Tell me about what makes your heart beat double.
Sing to me of the injustices that touch you for another’s sake;
Or of the dreams you have, almost too fragile to breathe.
Don’t make pointless comments and flap your mouth for sound to me –
Sing to me of your destiny.
Don’t make small talk.