Hipster Sonnet

My hipster's tastes are nothing like your own,
He fucks the mainstream smugly in the ass;
His favorite band is virtually unknown,
Unending are his stores of ironic sass.
The thrifted togs that grace my hipster's frame
And black-rimmed specs that perch upon his nose --
Premeditated is their disarray,
It cheers him that his style is something loathed.
Add Holga, Polaroid, or Canon prop
And hipster boy can now take on the world
(With Instagram as back-up if it's dropped)
And hat and scarf as armor, both self-purled.
His heart of hearts prefers - gasp - Coldplay's sound
But the best things in life are always underground.
♠ ♠ ♠
Viva hipsters.