the party on oak street

i did not remember it being so uncomfortable

all the puddles of people. blinking hesitant crowds

waving, wavering.

some of the boys were against the outer walls of the back shed sweating eachothers lonely drunk sweat

downing big clear bottles,

while the few girls that hung around moved themselves to songs their many drinks had made

and me, resisting the temptation to wander off into the alley or down the street, like a secret or like "i have to go"

i stayed for the tiny dancing smoke that lept from one place in the air to the other.and thought "maybe thats why i came to pulsing rooms and yards like these."

for the smoke that left the mouths of pretty girls

and followed their future lovers

from conversation to conversation

"do we not mingle because of unmatching histories? or perhaps we are our own fathers and mothers' overly sexual tendencies and innocent urges to keep you close to our face?"

sorry that i have pretended to know more than everyone there

oh but we all think we sometimes open like tiny child hands, and so do i