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by JONATHAN WATSON

With their shakes, 
they shot daggers 
out of eyes that 
resembled hawks.  

Nobody bothered 
knowing my name, 
so I stood by the 
fugitive table. 

The humidity rose, 
and I did not bother 
eyeing the tableau 
per the custom. 

They would likely 
pretend for me— 
ignoring what they 
already deduced.  

When they brought 
out the broomstick 
with the streamers, I 
dutifully complied.  

I was strapped into 
the swing set while 
the hosts announced 
it was piñata time.  

After the fun was had, 
the guests winked at 
each other while I 
limped away alone. 

I keep swearing never 
to accept an invite 
again, but who am I 
without my people?