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Monday, January 21, 2013

The Cocktail Party

The hour is late after mother
is put to bed
Windows reflect this room
where the conversation
turns into buzz and laughter
spent here away from the world

This imagined is a cocktail party
with others in conversation
about their stumble in love
success at work
the political topics of this cold day
how to make palatable chip dip

The other guests sip their daiquiris
the advertised beer their fingers
unconsciously harvested
from a liquor store cooler
Martinis olives pool at the end
of Soviet flagged toothpicks

Soft piano melodies rinse the room
of any darkness
Then a trumpet plays familiar notes
this handsome crowd notes
with a nodded head and gestures
of green blue and red stereo light

This imagination is still work for me
since my ear is cocked
towards the dark hallway
and her bedroom
These invisible guests surround
this silent observer who just listens

Individuals could be described
a blue turtleneck hopelessly
out of style
mustachioed black leather jacket
with worn elbows
a younger man receiving glances

But none of them are really here
despite my need to be with others
while mother slips
into darkened dreams
This is my party alone
in deep blue shallows

Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick

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