She’s having a party this fine holiday
And, maybe you will be invited;
It all will depend on what she said you’d say
And, whether there’s someone you’ve spited.
You will have been likely to moan and complain
But expecting an offer, you’re Abel, not Cain?
You just might not find, at the South postal station
Embossed, or engraved: your own invitation.
The guest list is partial; you’ll have to concede
To those who are selfish, and given to greed.
This affair is designed just for those you don’t like
The ones who will lunge and then grab for the mic
If you cannot consume more than four shots of jello
Then no one will care if you even play cello
The people attending will feed off each other
Broadcasting the sins of somebody’s wife’s brother
A party is meant as warm welcome for those
The hostess prefers, the ones that she chose
But, this time, now let’s just be honest and blunt
She’ll only invite you if you are a
So, wallow and whimper and weep, if you must
Oh; this shindig you’re sure you will crash? Well, then just
Take Garrison Keillor’s advice ( he’s that good):
Have almost as much fun as you thought you would.
— © R.A.Scanzillo. 12/25/15
All rights those of the author. Thanks. At least, in concept, a poem can’t be pilfered.