Are you with?

[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

            anything stupid.

Someone is singing You Can’t Always Get What You Want to

            anonymous listeners.

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.