Punk Rock Nightmare

I went to a party last night.
Well. Not a party. A reception.

There were grapes and cheese, rivers
of wine and not enough beer.

The chocolate cake came pre-cut
in little slices, separated
by tiny sheets of wax paper.

The baby carrots were good.

No one said much.

     Then everyone got loud.

There were no fights. Not one dick peed

in anything but the toilet. Not a single chick stripped

off more than her coat. Not one guest left late

with someone else's date. Not even the inappropriately dressed

overdosed on inappropriateness. No one died

of anything but boredom. Sometimes

     I want to give up, scream

then get a haircut, dry clean my blue suit

and settle down -- fake a show of contentment

with competing to get at the crumbs

before the other rats trapped in this race.

Then I remember, I leave soirees late
because I'm optimistic. I believe
if you band two or more Homo sapiens together

and wait

long enough, at least one of the punks
is bound to breakdown and behave

like a human being.

Mark Harrison