Poetry Month #22: Death of the Party

I forgot I hadn’t written a poem until 10:20 tonight, so here’s what I came up with.

This is just based on a chance phrase one of my debate partners dropped that I thought was amusing, and I said I might write a poem about it. So I did.

Be careful what you say around writers...you never know what could end up tucked into some story or poem.

Death of the Party

She calls herself the death of every party

On her arrival conversations hush

She is, she’s certain, met with false embraces

And she can see right through when people gush

She knows that they are whispering behind her

But she is much too bitter to inquire

And she can only think if she weren’t present

They wouldn’t of the games so quickly tire

Announcing that she has to go she fancies

Her friends all smile to think they’ll have relief

And once she’s gone they’ll celebrate her absence

Condemning her, of all their fun, a thief

And next time she receives an invitation

She will refuse, so they won’t have her near

She calls herself the death of every party

And by believing it, becomes her fear


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