Square Peg

My pride has served me well at times, but here
It's like a paper sword. The hall, its floor of polished
Marble, massive crystal fixture overhead, is filled
With pairs who speak in quiet tones, in tailored suits
And evening gowns. They do not stare. They're
Better bred than that, but they're aware that one
Of lesser caste, in, frankly, shabby clothes, has come,
And no one knows his name. My eyes are focused
On the wall. I work my way with artificial ease toward
The bar, and ask the woman for a drink. She looks at me
As if to say, “I've earned my place among these people.
You have not, and you should go,” and I'm inclined
To think I should. I'm only here because Francina
Made me promise I would come. She said we'd have
A little fun, the two of us as avant-gardists, painter,
Poet, rude and loud, within her parents' pallid realm,
But, so far, I am here alone, and I don't even dare to
Speak. I gulp my drink, retrace my steps, intent on
Getting to the door, and getting out, and, when I've
Reached the gilded handle, almost safe, Francina
Barges in, and puts her hands upon my face.
“Darling, have you been here long? I'm glad you
Came. Come on; I'll introduce you to my mom
And dad.” The ones who wouldn't stare still are
Not staring, but they're louder now, and I can
Look them in their eyes, my paper sword sufficient
With Francina at my side.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2011-01-21 at 15:46

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