The Party Line
I hate parties where you have to wait in line,
She invited me to one,
as a gesture of interest,
because she likes me,
because it might be fun.
An assortment of French cheeses
Skewered with tooth pick American flags
as if some tiny astronaut
Left a mark with his tags,
fill a plate.
Well dressed caricatures
with Brobdingnagian hands
Trade stories like stock options
about head shrinking bands
of self-help, tofu and bran
guru types fresh from Japan
Or some more exotic place
Like Mattapan.
I contemplated French kissing
An electric outlet,
that three pronged savior,
When the topic of politics,
under the guise of animal behavior,
hidden within the debate
about evolution in the school system
arose at our table.
I would’ve if I were able,
But we were in the center of the room
drowning in well-meaning
mostly harmless,
Humanistic,
But otherwise useless crapulence
That some spelunker,
Dubbed as authority by the Post,
A shining armored debunker,
pulled from the anis of history
and supported with polls
taken of 100 people
Like the Family Feud.
Survey says I’d rather be home
with a movie I’ve already viewed
just so she will fall asleep
On my chest, because she’s bored.
I want to be alone, I want to be alone
with her.
