Poem: The Smug Man

The Smug Man

Arms folded across chest,
the Smug Man
waits for your words to wash
over him.
Can’t teach him anything
he don’t know.
Church is confirmation
for a man
who already knows all
the answers
to all mysteries and
life’s questions.

He’ll come to your book club
and he’ll talk.
He didn’t read it, just
got the gist,
but he’s pretty sure that
he is right.
If he was wrong, then why
would he feel
so very sure he’s right?
Makes no sense.
It’s never occurred to
the Smug Man.

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