Circulating a tray of nuts and savoury dips,
here, the squares who aspire to normality,
there, the cool types flaunting issues and
prescribed medicine, a couple of youths
on the sofa, adepts, recycling a conversation
over the course of an hour, for protection.
I’m recalling how my mother once dreamed
of a 'smash-hit' beef bourguignon party,
never held by my brother at college, wonder
to whom I can relate this frivolous tale.
Mrs A and B, workmanlike name-droppers,
hostility checked by the Nash equilibrium,
husbands with a 'take out or get taken out'
attitude, cigarettes unfurling their contribution,
and beyond, the cold clarity of night.
