The Life of the Party

What for I don’t know.

A show,

Not to attend but one to extend

To all in the ballroom black.

Punctuated by flashing lights,

Bass.

Action.

I as the main attraction.

Or at least, that’s what I hope for.

In preparation for the dance floor,

I shower, shave,

Brush, my mouth fresher for taste.

Hair gel this time, no water in haste.

Slide open the closed closet,

And pull out the black suit.

A perfect fit, I admit:

I look rather dashing.

A chew of gum, for extra ice.

A spray of fumes, like winter’s spice.

City lights greet me with fanfare.

I pay the fare for the yellow.

The lines of people, the lines of hellos.

In I go.

What for I don’t know.

I

Do know.

The lure of:

Interaction?

Intoxication?

Recreational procreation?

One of those, I don’t know which.

The heat of a sauna, the scent of liquor rich.

I feel it immediately when I enter and sense

Quakes of the booming bass, the off-kilter balance.

Bodies in the middle morphing into one amorphous being.

An amoeba at center stage, indivisible, careening and cavorting.

Do I wish to join it? No, I don’t. Wait, not yet. I’m not drunk yet.

To the bar I go, to drink from the cauldron of courage. Where is it?

Ah, there it is, the glass bottles beaming reflected light, seducing all night.

A beer please. Another beer. One shot, two shot, three shot, four. What’s the count?

Whatever, I can’t recount.

I’m happy now.

The life of the party in me flows.

I do know.