A Disappointing Party

We wear funny hats
and shoes
at the paned window
as we look out across the lawn
in twilight’s spell.
This is your club
and your friends.
I am a guest,
the last one to choose
the shoes from in the trunk
that don’t match.
They’re the wrong
color,
and too big
for my feet.
The hat is felt
with soft lines that
sit on my head
like a lizard
curling on a rock
in the sun.
But there is only lamplight
at your party.
There’s also a record player
that skips.
I can feel your presence
behind me,
pausing in the doorway.
As I turn,
so do you,
and our gazes
never meet.
Why don’t you say anything?
You have always been
disappointing.

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