Saturday, October 30, 2010

1159. TOO LATE FOR THE PARTY

TOO LATE FOR THE PARTY
I'd come too late for the party : the tables were down,
the cups had already been taken away. A few dead-drunk
people were set around like puppets props from the
Living Theater : twisted limbs, frost on their faces,
and all that shouldered harmony of the dense. The
pretty waitress from the kitchen sauntered by. Picking
up scraps, she sparred with the busboy; as if throwing
darts and flirting with results. Only the lighting saved
the day. I'd asked if I needed a reservation. 'Now?',
she said, 'we're going away.' Hallelujah to that.
-
Along the stairway, the crescent moon had bent strips
of yellow light; they rolled across the steps lending
a color to the night; not much, but a color nonetheless.
Had I been a smoker, this would have been the place.
Instead, I took my rest - leaning on the wall I watched
the three men from the Carson Warehouse load their
crates : marked from China, big, strapped wood,
probably filled with marbles or nothing really good.
Cheap wares and Chinese flares - all that stuff of
dollar stores and emporium fairs. Junk, probably
like the boat they also named.
-
I realized I was late for the party. I realized what
I'd thought, as well. If I had a Chinese junk, I'd
sail the harbor solo, never setting foot on land
again. Impractical as that would be, from all this
patter I'd be free. It took a moment more to sink
in - nothing mattered anymore, and I was
drowning anyway. Too late for the party,
and too late for the festive tray.

No comments: