The Garden Party

Cheap store-bought sequins
and the stale scent of bourbon
dripping from lips
too slick,
shining under whore-red lipstick

as only the most provocative
mindless chatter is uttered
illustrated by the langorous movements
of pastey parchement hands
tipped with chipped gaudy red
unnervingly even
under abbrassive halogen
reflected 10,000 times

in sequins, and stars
and the mirrored cloisonie ball
strung to the ceiling

and on the balcony
a woman stands naked
her wide freckled back
to the dancers, searching to be seen
and the wallflowers, afraid to be
and those needing to be heard
so they don't have to listen

her eyes to the stars
and the grass and the world
as she breathes...
her round arms stretched out, palms up
her strong wide body moves

still she is unnoticed
except for the few cries of outrage
as uttered by those too timid to keep their voice
or those who are never listened to

she was never pure
though she searched for purity
and somewhere she learned
that she didn't need to be

she was not beautiful
in the eyes of the garden party
she was naked, and bald
she was not gaunt, or even thin
she was round, her flesh folded

but if you looked into
her eyes, and you listened
you'd hear her music there
and if she touched you, and she thought about it
you'd be at peace...

until you remembered
to go back
to the garden party

-zeb kommit