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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