1 minute read
This place best shunned and left uninhabited.
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POST-MORTEM
The party passed peacefully In the late hours of the night.
A friend of a friend clinging to the dark, Swaddled by the door.
Day breaks
And we emerge From
Glitter-stained pillowcases, Hanging over each other on the 502, Snaking towards a diner reeking of detergent.
An investigation occurs over cracking vinyl And scrambled eggs that pack a crunch. A host of red herrings emerge—
Jello shots from thin January air—
Fire-throwers ignite from the smoker’s pit
A Pepperette ends up In the dish soap again.
The birthday girl is on a manhunt
For the thief of her disco ball, The tattered string is all that remains
Hanging ghostly from the chandelier
Invisible until it becomes the only murder weapon. All you can do is mourn for all those bashed pockets And take another chaliced sip.
