The Party

I don’t like parties
Usually,
But I’m hosting one
For all my troubles
Of late.

I’ll serve dark Shiraz and
A plaintive Bach air
On a tiny violin play;
Drape streamers of ebony.

The venue: a threadbare couch.
The food: stale salted crackers
Crumbling in our fingers,
A pungent gorgonzola 
Ripe with decay.

Of what will we talk?
How dreadful;
It’s terrible;
Just awful;
Down, down we’ll spiral.

It’s starting soon,
My pity party -
Will you come?

Photo by Alexa Portoraro.

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Bonjour! This is my portfolio of creative work - art, calligraphy, poetry, humor, and random musings. I hope you find something to entertain, amuse, or inspire you! Read more here. To stay in touch, follow me on Instagram or sign up.

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