No Finger Sandwiches at This Shindig
By Justin Karcher
It’s the last Monday
of my life
or at least it feels that way
Jon Snow has gone up north
never to return
the Queen’s cold body
on the back of a dragon
flying over the Narrow Sea
also never to return
my ambition along with them
I’m at a celebratory announcement
at Alleyway Theater
but I’m not really paying attention
I’m hanging in the back
playing with a balloon
I found on the ground
it has that weird dust on it
you can’t wipe off
like the balloons
had been hanging out
in a plastic baggy
for a long ass time
before they were chosen
and blown up
to finally realize their destiny
but they’re too old to float
so it’s really sad
anyway, I’m holding this dead balloon
and I’m not gonna pretend
it’s full of life
so we’re back
on the topic of ambition
how I wanna fly
around the room but can’t
I shouldn’t be this mopey but I am
blame Game of Thrones
blame my office job
blame winter in May
blame the new playwright-in-residence
who’s friends with Harry Potter
how they hide out in the bathroom
of a hip New York bar
and pleasure each other
while saying Voldemort
over and over again
that’s not what he’s talking about
but I wish he was
I guess it’s fun
to imagine
the unimagined
anyway, someone says
something about
the future
something about
newness
then the applause
then the mingling
but all I want is a cigarette
so I go do that
outside
it’s cold
inside
too many ill-fitting suits
