He wakes up early and puts on his jeans
And drinks some fresh coffee made from the beans
Of a little-known plantation in Southern Rwanda,
Where all live poor or die from malaria
Except those who farm and harvest coffee,
For they make a living from folks much like he.
Then off to the closet to choose a shirt,
He picks one with the logo of a place he once worked.
It wasn't a franchise, just family-owned;
Its clothing custom and groceries home-grown.
Before he leaves his one-room apartment
He grabs his satchel that was hand-woven
By Haitians affected by an earthquake.
And now his journey he begins to take.
He sets himself down upon his fixie,
Which he got on Craigslist for only fifty
Dollars—a truly incredible deal
And, with its large basket, quite a great steal!
When near halfway to his destination
He halts his bike, consumed with frustration.
A boy near the road—no more than fifteen—
Dressed in a pair of faded skinny jeans
And purple boxers half seen down his rear,
Had thrown him a pretty unwitty jeer
About being a freak who doesn't fit in
And most likely has not even one friend.
The Hipster, with pity, responds as thus
To the Skater who spat that filthy cuss—
An ignorant teen who thinks himself cool
Due to membership in a group of fools
That all look and act exactly alike
And have become their own stereotype:

"Son, please tell me why it is that you think
Because I am different that makes you unique.
For you choose to be a Skater, a punk,
So you will stand out much like a sore thumb
And gain the attention of those who seek
A man who is different, a man not weak.
But in reality you're just a clone
And, like all the others, made just of bone.
You lost all you had and gave yourself up,
And all that you've gained is quite a sore thumb.
Now look right at me, the one whom you gibe
For being different, not having a life.
I am the one who accomplished your dream
Of being my own and causing a scene.
So open your eyes, and open your ears
As I tell you a tale that will make clear
The difference that lies between you and me—
That my motive is truth, and yours deceit:

"In the town Axiom, not ten years back,
There dwelt two young men named Malcolm and Zach,
And also a beautiful young lady
Who was viewed by all as rare and maybe
Even an angel so fair and so bright,
And by these two men a heavenly sight.
This girl—whose name I no longer recall—
Had a very short list containing all
That she ever had wanted in a man—
That he would be different and take a stand
Against the tough, dry, and tasteless standard;
Be caring and yet a great adventure.
Well, Malcolm and Zach, wishing to gain her,
Each had thoughts of how to be the winner.
Zach tried to change to be what a girl wants,
And Malcolm stayed just the way that he was.
After the course of just a few years,
The difference was great between these two peers.
Both had different ideas of unique—
Zach, being infamous, and Malcolm, meek.
This beautiful girl, so wise and so true,
Knew which man she wanted out of the two.
For though Zach had sought to make a big scene,
He was an extra, a wave in the sea.
And Malcolm, just trying to be himself,
Was different somehow from everyone else;
Because only he was truthful and free,
While everyone else lacked identity.
So Malcolm had won the girl in this way,
And Zach had become a common cliché.

"So now, oh Skater, I hope you can see
That being a Hipster means being me
And not fitting in with a certain crowd,
So when I whisper I make a great sound."