[One of my few ever poems pre-NaPoWriMo '13, composed around this time of year several years ago. It's hard to identify with the anxty self behind that 'I' now (Thank God). Thought of it after reading Becca's "Midwestern Lament" earlier this month.]
Late at the dinner party, the lucky are at home
stepping smiling into pajamas. They didn’t say
Someone is singing You Can’t Always Get What You Want to
Stand in a place where no one can wonder
why I’m not having a good time.
How those crossed legs between legs could never be mine.
Wondering, the point of a heel through my ankle.
Leans on me to catch her balance between the split
of a knee-length neon blue skirt.
Are you with? Yes. I’m I’m. Nice to meet you. Oh sweetie there are so
many of us.
You will never remember.