A Real Party

 

Last weekend,

I tried a party--

In gruesome reality,

Not happy virtuality.

For a while,

I was fine--

Mostly silent,

A dumb charade,

With mental (dis)likes; 

Forced to speak,

I tried emojis 

With subtitles.

In writer-reader mode,

I saw Shokie frowning,

Where's the murder/story;

Cut the scenes 

Leading nowhere,

Chekhov whispered;

How about poetry,

A la Gerontion or Wilfred Owen

In a trench full of grey guys.

I went through

A trashcan of memories

To get through the night.

I must have endured

Parties with guys,

Alas! Without a byte stored;

This lot was decent,

Friendship is tiring,

Scars of worse still itch;

The absence of women,

Is that why I searched

For the logout button;

But then, with those 

The promise of tomorrow

Is the impossible requisite.

Don't you laugh, my love,

I don't need your clone,

How well I cope without you.