Here we are, at the center
of it all, & somebody
brought the trident
despite what the invitation
said. She's riding atop
the shoulders of this guy
in a bathrobe, her eyes
not quite averted
from the exhibitionist
crawling on all fours.
It's that kind of party
& here I am, waving my
styrofoam sword
at strangers, pulling
my visor lower so I can
peep the purple fez
of the man opposite.
There's always a guy
with a scythe who
won't leave the princess
& her sun alone. When the song ends
& the angel gives
another crank, he'll
have found his way
to the nudist & will
tell her she has a lovely moon
while everyone else
makes for the guy
with the caduceus
because they heard
he brought his leeches along.
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