Another Saturday Night With Her Friends
Where the floor meets the wall,
She stands in her usual spot,
Craving a cigarette,
Observing, processing, psycho-analyzing,
Another Saturday night with her friends.
Their forced civilized exchange of small talk,
Boasting, intellectual competitions and back handed compliments
Vainly covers the tension of secret love triangles,
Unspoken resentments, jealousies, and
Bruised egos until the alcohol takes effect and
people start going to the bathroom in groups.
That is when someone puts on jazz album,
And suggests a game which
brings out the "realness" in everyone:
They tell stories, make confessions,
Share moments of tenderness before
Declaring war
Shattering several expensive wine glasses and
Dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter or sobbing
Until
a fight is taken outside
a couple is having sex in the basement,
and someone is vomiting in the kitchen waste basket.
Except her,
Lightly buzzed by some cheap white box wine,
She will comfort and offer sage advice to
the histrionic and the clueless
which they will soon forget or dismiss.
Refill the pretzel and chip bowels,
Break up a fight between two romantic rivals,
Pour countless whiskey shots and shake 20 mean Vodka martinis,
Nurse the drunk and clean up the mess in the kitchen.
Years from now, these alleged group of friends will
Rewrite this night filled with fun and merriment
Where the drinks, drugs and conversation flowed,
and the fire never died,
While she will accurately recall every detail and wonder
Why she allowed this group of sparkling, beautiful, broken people
To cast her as their resident
Gopher
Maid
Bartender
Unpaid therapist
Keeper of secrets
Enabler…
What was her incentive or her reward?
Beyond their peripheral acceptance.
Copyright © Rose Losey | Year Posted 2012
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