Fall Parties, by Becca Klaver


I cannot wait for fall parties.
The invitations have begun to roll in.

I used to think I loved summer parties
until they got this year so sweaty and sad,

the whole world away at the shore,
sunk in sweet and salt.

Goodbye, summer:
you were supposed to save us

from spring but everyone just slumped
into you, sad sacks

pulling the shade down on an afternoon
of a few too many rounds.

Well, I won’t have another.
I’ll have fall. The fall of parties

for no reason, of shivering rooftops,
scuffed boots, scarves with cigarette holes.

I’ll warm your house.
I’ll snort your mulling spices.

I’ll stay too late, I’ll go on a beer run,
I’ll do anything

to stay in your dimly lit rooms
scrubbed clean of all their pity.

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