House Party

There are many faces,
many moving mouths
that do not talk in my direction..
The five bowls of chips suddenly
become harder to get to.
I stick to the closest one–
Cracked pepper.

Izzy arrives. I’ve heard a lot about her from Melissa.
Melissa begins introducing her to everyone she doesn’t know, which is not much–
then attends to something, leaving behind her soprano tones she reserves for excitement.
Boy stands by Izzy– Byron, I think I hear. I think of Lord Byron. This Byron does not look like a writer, but he does look at me.

He looks at me again when he sits near me.
Do my eyes deceive me or do they deceive me?
Why do I still think believe glances hold boxes of promises?
When Byron speaks, his voice is high-ish– possible gay, informs my non-existant gaydar. But Panda, who brought veggies earlier, jokes, “Should I have brought my boyfriend too, Melissa?” when Izzy steps inside. I don’t know. I shouldn’t care that he’s pretty and I get his Spongebob reference and watch his toes curl behind his white ankle socks. I shouldn’t care.

When they come, they bring chips and noise. I’m no match.

Outside, I sit on a wicker bench,
on green tea-colored cushions.
The gap in the shrubs nearby–
Can I escape? I wonder.
I’d like to finish Oryx and Crake
sitting at home with my cat.