©The Party’s Over
By BR Chitwood
Friday nights became a weekly
ritual at my apartment in the
Lovely ‘Spanish Gardens’ –
My drinking pals were there with
‘Lady prizes’ of the evening, plus
Some Male and female loners…
They usually matched up quickly.
At party’s end I was alone.
While soft Frank Sinatra ballads
Floated among the low lights
And polluted air of booze and smoke
I lazily reclined on the sofa,
Allowing my mind to wander
Down its normal paths of
Romantic memories of pretty faces,
Love affairs in Time’s vacuum.
As I stared at the shadowy ceiling
It came clearly vivid to me…
Stark, plain as the mind can
Render and a ‘hobo heart’ can
Pump its Romantic sadness…
No matter the attempts to
Rebuke the world for my failings,
I was a man ignoring his destiny…
‘His destiny’? I smiled at my hubris…
An author who wrote of his small
Accomplishments, his Loves, his idiocy,
His books, his poetry, were to bring
A new name to literature – my name!
‘His Destiny’? Really! ‘His Destiny’?
A fool at the journey’s beginning –
An enlightened fool at journey’s end!
BR Chitwood – June 28, 2021