Tea
The chime of the cuckoo clock--
wheezy in its unfashionable decline--
breaks up the quiet conversations
as we look up from steaming cups
and begin to make our excuses.
I really must go.Â
I have an appointment
(with a YouTube video posted five years ago,
about a twenty year old show).
I really can't stay.
I promised I'd be home early tonight
(and my cat will turn up her nose at me,
and I might miss my nightly doomscroll).
Oh, I really have to run!
I have so much I need to do tonight
(like the New York Times crossword puzzle,
and a little Klingon at Duolingo).
Really, dear, it's been lovely
But my sheets won't iron themselves
and my car needs gas
because it's almost down to half a tank.
And the hostess smiles, nibbles on a cookie
(too dry, quite unfit for a party)
and says, "What a shame!
We really must do this again."
Sometime, when I don't have an essay to write
Or a poem due on Facebook.