No Place Left for a Leftist

Seems I've shown up too late. The party is over.
The house lights are up, and the chairs have been
Put onto tables. Uniformed women are cleaning
The room. There's another party for friends
Of the host, somewhere else, but I don't know
The address, and, anyway, I've not been named
As a friend. I suppose that they're dancing
And sharing in-jokes, faking wisdom by
Mumbling right-wing cliches. I go out
To the sidewalk, where everything's broken,
And people are grubbing in trash cans for food.
I say, “Hey, everybody, let's have our own party,”
But gaiety's something that they can't afford.
They stare up at me like I'm a fool.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2020-02-17 at 21:37

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