They Are My Fodder I Am Their Author

They are teachers. Conference day. Many clumped up, together, visiting. I am my usual lone wolf self, doing what I want. Realizing how foolish it would be to share my ideas. When so many others have a need to share theirs. I stay back in the corner taking notes, listening stealthily. Writing it down in my mind to be used in my poetry later. She was so unassuming, they will say. She looked so innocent, they will think. She has written a book about us! They will gasp. Who am I kidding? No one has recognized themselves yet Even when I was being as blatant as I dared Waiting for the wrath of an overbearing aunt Or an under-caring co-worker. Even when they did not know, and everyone else did. They are my fodder. I am their author. I laugh. Silently, trying to not show them my wolf teeth.