Monday, May 22, 2006

Not Really My Thing (Press)

I'm alone.
You would think that being alone would be difficult,
in a house full of people.
(It's not)
There is one other person I know,
besides you and the person throwing the party.
(He's on the phone)
I stand, alone, in the kitchen.
You, oh. I dunno...
You're somewhere (I guess)
So I just stand, hugging my arms to myself
watching the timer blink slowly down from 30 minutes.
I listen to various cars pull up
and the hurried introductions.
(and I try not to listen as the group of girls
sprawled around the... living room?
talk of which drugs they brought,
how much, and when...)
My ex is outside smoking,
along with another girl whose face I know
(but name I can't recall...)
Somewhere, a cell phone rings,
and is picked up with a giggly hellll-ooh?
She mentions something about bringing alcohol
(something good...)
and I turn away to stare again at the timer,
counting down the final seconds
I search the kitchen blindly before a pair of
arms in dark red silk gloves slips into
view on my right, grabs two floral-printed
hot pads sitting clearly (obviously...) on the
counter and opens up the oven, pulling out the
mottled pink cake.
"Looks like crap." the glove-wearer comments.
"Probably tastes like crap too." I reply.
We giggle, introduce ourselves and poke at the
supposed "birthday cake" with a butcher knife pulled from
the wooden block sitting crookedly on
the crumb-scattered counter.
Someone in that group of girls calls her name though,
and again I'm alone in the kitchen.
You run, or more like bound, down the stairs and
smile as you see me.
The "host" of this party, until now absent-
out somwhere in the front yard I guess-
walks over with even more people
(how many have I met already?)
and runs down the list of names
(I'll never remember them...)
He picks up his camera from the table
and motions for us to pose for a picture
(I try and fake a smile...)
"No! Let's get a 'happy couple' picture...
like... put your arm around her!"
You do, and the camera flashes on my smile.
(no longer fake...)


Hilachita said...

awwwww... that's sad! But very well written. The parentheses really emphasized the meaning

Shadow's Rose. said...

My name is called, and a is job assigned. I slowly wander up the stairs contemplating what manor of task im going to get. Yet, its not so much a job as it is just helping out, fun in fact, so I set on doing what i was asked to do. I sit calmly at the computer, sorting through all sorts of music... My only advice was to choose music that the guests would like to listen to while dancing later that night. People come and go from the room, a friend stopping by and shaking his head while grinning. (apparently my choice in music was unique) But soon is gone off to take a shower. I finish up what im doing, and hardly forget to update the list before choosing to slide back downstairs. Although, it was less of a slide and more of a jump to finish up the last few stairs. Then I see you, and make my way over to say hi again. A quick remark, followed by a hurried flash, and on the way to watch a movie.

pinkroses said...

So thats what you were doing :P



Ps- Thanks Hilachita... I hoped that they would!!

Grumpy as Always said...

It really puts in perspective how many people feel in big crowds of people they don't know. It has happened several times to me. A lot of your poems lately have talked about "you". If you know what I mean but that is okay

Anonymous said...

It is very good, still kind of sad, but good.