Leaving the Party Is a Difficult Art
Alex Echevarria

We were all alive that night
Trying to talk, it seemed
Listening to Tchaikovsky
Over a wide gulf, bright

With red wine, burning
With a beery tete-a-tete
Teeth and tonsils turning
Turning with the lights

Going on and on, talking
With walls creaking, wet
With our sweating aspirations
Shaking with our conditions

When the man in cotton pants
The dreaded fellow from
Very high at the door
Chanted cheerfully

"Come now! Come now!"
As he passed our small crowd
Holding his glass high
Drinking our liquid how

And we recognized him
Suddenly in the stout
Warm in the warm pint glass
But frothy at the mouth

And then without exception
Host and guest and all
Joined the drunk procession
As we all went pouring out

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