We can all enter as one.
Legs criss-crossed over heels, with boots caught on bangles.
A several headed, multi-armed monster looking for fun.
When the music initiates the pairings, I'm the note that dangles.
It's not that hard to dance alone on the floor.
To have to serve and slide with just your own hips.
But remember to always have eyes on the exit door.
If you get overwhelmed by memories of opportunities missed.
They can all sit down as one.
Hands held over one another, with laughter bursting about.
You seat your nicotine scented self, exhaling for fun.
Silent prayers that the laughter, before the vodka, runs out.
It's not easy to sit at the couples table and be single.
But you do it, to be nice, and polite.
It's not easy to pin on a smile, laugh, and try to mingle.
But you do it, so you don't ruin the night.
They all nod their head and say you're next.
So you nod too, as they get up to dance.
They twirl about the room in all their wonder.
And it makes you realize, you've been acting like Blanche.
It’s not my fault that everyone I wanted to take me home is gone.
So I have the crown and title of being unstable.
I'm sorry, but not I'm going to drink until dawn.
Because sometimes it's hard, sitting at this couples table.
*** *** ***
"I'm single because I was born that way." -Mae West
I can't help but wonder, if I hadn't told so, so many men to "come up and see me sometime", would I be single now? The Blanche Deveareux regimen can wear you out some nights. Other nights, it's the greatest addiction I have. This way you can sleep spread eagle, with the bed all to yourself; and, at other times, you can sleep spread eagle on top of someone else. But still, what's it like to sit at the couples table and be there rightfully? I wonder.
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