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 697 times
Written on 2021-07-08 at 13:58

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Well said!
2021-07-08


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.
2021-07-08



These parties sound like they are, in Hamlet's words, feasts "more honoured in the breach than the observance." Excellent poem.
2021-07-08


Steven Riddle
Wait, have you been to my office parties? This is spot-on. Thank you.
2021-07-08