Party

Seventies sounds slide from
wet speakers under tarpaulin,
revealing our average age.
Whilst pretty youth hangs out,
brushed ordinary by inclemency,

LED fairies wrap happily
around huge balloons,
wafting in idle dance,
and gauze obscures a newborn
suckling, haunted by a nipple.

As adversely politiced pairs
set the drunk planet keeling,
I’ll take my leave, followed by
more grizzled absconders,
yearning decaf with our cake.