Holiday Party at Vernon Lanes
They clatter like ice cubes,
Lemonade in a pitcher clinking
And sweating; glass fractals in the Sun.
But the windows here are sashed and draped,
Mourning clothes for my low score and low buzz.
Fast motion pulse of bodies and plastic cups
Blending into abstract flesh twins,
Polyuethane tribesmen high on cheap hops.
We cheer for the pins as they
Jingle their crisp jangle;
Slender necks like swans scattered in flight.