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Conversations at the Party

           

           (Theargumentsagainstinsanityfallthroughwithasoftshurringsound/layeronlayer…)

           Whowasthat?Somepoethehadreadasanundergraduate?SomeundergraduatepoetwhowasnowsellingwashersinWausauorinsuranceinIndianapolis?Perhapsanoriginalthought?Didn’tmatter.

           (Thenightisdark/thestarsarehigh/adisembodiedcustardpielisfloatinginthesky…)

           Hegiggledhelplessly.

           "What’sfunny,honey?"

           Andherehewasagain,intheballroom.Thechandelierwaslitandcoupleswerecirclingallaroundthem,someincostumeandsomenot,tothesmoothsoundsofsomepostwarband-butwhichwar?Canyoubecertain?

           No,ofcoursenot.Hewascertainofonlyonething:hewasdancingwithabeautifulwoman.

           Shewastallandauburn-haired,dressedinclingingwhitesatin,andshewasdancingclosetohim,herbreastspressedsoftlyandsweetlyagainsthischest.Herwhitehandwasentwinedinhis.Shewaswearingasmallandsparklycat’seyemaskandherhairhadbeenbrushedovertoonesideinasoftandgleamingfallthatseemedtopoolinthevalleybetweentheirtouchingshoulders.Herdresswasfull-skirtedbutbecouldfeelherthighsagainsthislegsfromtimetotimeandhadbecomemoreandmoresurethatshewassmoothand-powderednakedunderherdress,

           (thebettertofeetyourerectionwith,mydear)

           andhewassportingaregularrailspike.

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