I debate the greatness of Beyoncé
with a Swedish Gen-Z girl who hates me
for saying B is overrated.
She is 12 years younger than me,
seems contentions towards me at first,
but she is glued to my hip,
by the hilt of the evening with the lilt of her lip.
I am too old and tired
to even try, which she is not used to;
she's used to dudes
fawning all over her.
Turns out she is a screamer
who stalked me on Instagram
before I even arrived to have a time
with these southern friends of mine.
She had her mind made up
and her undies proved that,
because they were immaculate
and I was glad I wore my purple Calvins.
In the morning, I wake to texts
from said southern friends saying "Natalie likes you,"
and then I turn to Natalie and ask her
how she takes her coffee.