I was invited to a party.
It was shiny and new with loud music.
Rock bands playing, strobe lights flashing,
alcohol there in abundance: beer or whiskey?
I noticed the party girl,
brilliant red dress, gorgeous black shoes,
but she didn't notice me.
"Hi!" I said, all cheer.
I was brought by a friend who was welcome.
"Relax, have a drink and some chips," she said.
"Oh, sure, the dips are great," the bright toothy
smile on a twenty-year-old male model said.
I just got a new job and was elated.
The other party girl in jeans and a low-cut
blouse kept offering us a quick view of those
round clean-looking things.
"Hey! Hey! Have a party," was all I could hear from her.
I almost started to worry I wouldn't have someone to talk to.
My friend did lots of mingling. She left me.
"Relax."
The party girl was dancing, the party girl was chatting.
I sat on a couch and waited.
The cliques and coteries told me I was not welcome.
I did not like this turning into a bizarre experience.
My friend should have gauged that.
I chalked it up to a learning experience.
At least I could sit there.