This poem resulted from a rhyming class I took. I had to rhyme these new and interesting words (to me).


The Party

He came to me, no man as fell
Or evil, not many could tell
With his usual dramatic entrance
As if asking each person here to dance
But only with me would he be so brash
As to light a hand on my breast, to mash
That feminine part of be, to obtrude
His dark vision, his rank breath
Oh, how I prayed for his death!

"Marcus" I whispered, but my word were vapid
To his ears, that heard my heart's beat rapid
"Leave me be" I asked again, it was rude
Then he flicked a nipple, his schadenfreude
So obvious-where was my hero-my contender?
To save me from this lout-ah, the bartender!
He entered, we parted, it had to end
This sleek young man, he would forfend
We clasped martinis, I watched the face of Mark
Become dark and close, I took my chance and so embarked

To the door, my steps I soon retraced
Glad at last, to leave this place.




© 2007 Anne Westlund




Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 664 times
Written on 2007-02-06 at 00:41

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