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.
