The ones who don’t, keep saying that they care.
The ones who shouldn’t, drink in great amounts.
The host parades as if he has a pair.
The hostess is the only dish that counts.
The beauty with the legs wears tiny shorts.
Her lover shows off pictures of his kids.
They’re in the bedroom making sweater forts
While Mom watches her marriage hit the skids.
The one whose lips burn like a lemon flame
Is kissing the remote and debonair.
The one you want to
whisper your full name
Chats about someone hot who isn’t there.
And every drink tastes like a sweet collection
Of desperation, envy and rejection.
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