You’re invited to those parties which become your new tomorrows
filled with happiness and tragedy, overflowing with the
sorrows in your heart,
and the music jumps from eight-track to the latest in
but you can see the incongruity of being blessed with
second sight,

When I wallow in self pity I need no one else to pity me.

She marches to the flashing lights crashing through the
gates of night to find another party,
partly drunk on her exuberance and hoping for another chance,
I tag along behind.

© 2020, John Smallshaw.