Party

At the dinner party,
You look at me,
As if you love me,
But I don’t know you,
Not anymore.

Who is this woman,
So ready to concede,
To please and forfeit,
To laugh on cue,
To admire what she’d abhor?

The dress is not hers,
Bought with others in mind,
To match and compare,
But never out do,
Never outshine nor offend.

The stories are lies,
The drinks are cheap,
The tears are real,
But she’s not sharing,
To keep up and pretend.

I’m roped in,
Or at least she tries,
With another’s manner,
A voice regal and proud,
Changing her own name.

In the car she returns,
Back wherever she was,
Leaving me with her frauds,
She hates as much as I,
But doesn’t feel the shame.

Photo by Amy Shamblen on Unsplash

#HI