the invitation

word’s out on the street
that you’re having
a party. guess my invitation got
lost in the mail.
no, please. don’t bother
to correct your oversight.

because now
I wouldn’t go if you
showed up at my doorstep
in a carriage drawn by
four snow-white horses
to take me there in style,
bearing a hand lettered apology
written in gold and the blood
of your best friend, with a suspicious
wound newly plastered
on your arm, and a sparkly
new dress for me,
with shoes to match

after this fiasco,
I wouldn’t go
if the Artist Formerly Known As Prince and Princess Diana
were summoned from
beyond the grave to
entertain the guests, and
anyone who went would
automatically become
next in line
for the English throne.

now that I know
what I know,
I wouldn’t go if you handed out
a Nobel prize
of the attendee’s choice
as a party favor.

so later, when you see me?
please don’t insult my intelligence
and your short-term memory
by asking why I
didn’t attend.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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