Painting by Cindy Duhe

Another Reason I Don't Like Parties When she enters a room it's all wrecking balls and Chanel No. 5. I follow, the dumbest of all geniuses, pockets protected but vulnerable still to the crushing velvet of haute couture. She holds court in the center of attention, idly picking the scenery out of her teeth with charm and grace. I fiercely defend my corner, painted in by my post-modern mutterings on the coming apocalypse and left growling at shadows who turn disinterested shoulders to the debate. She gives fashion tips to angels, leaning in with a beatific smile to confer on the proper use of gel to make wings appear their fullest. I wear a tuxedo to bed in case a dinner party breaks out, and tie all my ties in a hangman's knot. When we dance I'm orbiting the sun, one foot in the flame, one in the frost. I know the decay will eventually catch up to me and I'll fall down slowly, like a quarter left spinning and humming across a kitchen table, but for now I just close my eyes and cling like condensation dripping down an autumn window pane. John Whitted

______________________________________________________________________ More Poetry by John Whitted, Featured Poet Back to the Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks