Party Clothes

The party’s over.

The roof’s 
been on fire
and now it’s coming down
despite all the efforts 
to save it.

The streamers
plummet onto us
stuck to burned bricks
and beams; the air
feels smoky and wet
all at once.

You’d better grab whatever you can
if you decide to run —
it may be better to die here, of course;
choose while you still can.

How slow
the implosion
of the great hall;
how long it has taken
to cave in; how many years
of small deaths
from early debris
that taught us nothing,

and now here we are
in our party clothes
trying to dodge catastrophe,
wondering if there’s time

for a last dance.

Advertisements

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

Comments are disabled.

%d bloggers like this: