These Parties

Alan spits gin as he loudly pontificates
About his yacht and fascist politics
His megaphone voice bangs a drum in my head
But I placidly nod in agreement.

I hate these parties. I hate my boss.

Champagne and bourbon float in the air
Like a witches brew, it smells like decadence.
Smiling with my teeth clenched to deny the toxins
I placidly sway to the music.

I hate these parties. I hate myself.

I wait for another invitation.

Poetry by Hans Bump
Read 304 times
Written on 2021-07-08 at 13:58

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Well said!

Caleb Murdock
I like this poem. It is clear and to the point. It describes a common situation -- having to socialize with and please one's boss. Well done.

These parties sound like they are, in Hamlet's words, feasts "more honoured in the breach than the observance." Excellent poem.

Steven Riddle
Wait, have you been to my office parties? This is spot-on. Thank you.