Twas a crowded room
An endless wave of humanity
Sounds echoed and mingled in a growing crescendo
Voices all speaking, yet saying nothing worthwhile
Shop talk, table talk, small talk, the same for their name
The colors of winter make an endless cycle
Blue suit, black dress, everything dark, everything drab
Jacketed servers with downtrodden eyes
Circling the room with libations
Trays fill up, trays empty, full and empty
Over and over it occurs
Small plates and small forks litter tables
Linens soiled with haphazard spills
Napkins take on amazing shapes
Crumpled, folded, wadded, and peaked
Behaviors lapse and the clock ticks
Buttons unbuttoned, ties untied, blouses unbloused
Still the servers continue serving
Riding the timeclock of another long night
Nondescript music beckons lucid couples
The him and her who may leave together
Only the drinks can say
Forgotten moves from high school dances
Jocularity replaces sobriety
Lights flash in an endless pattern
The focus not on the edges of the room
There the wallflowers drink in silence
Heads down, thoughts down even lower
Tongues loosened shout every word
Talk becomes cheap and risqué
Hands rush across soft curves
Whispers exchanged in sensitive ears
The crowd thins and some slip away
Singles, couples, and even a three
The servers stop serving
Drinks stop flowing
The final song
Last call
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