The Green Light

The Green Light

By eight, I smiled that smile, the one
resigned to living the most boring night.
Tonight, it would take place. An epitome
of inanity, the new high in lows.
The food was good, and the drinks, well,
drinks are drinks. But all topics are not
topics. Some, more nauseous than those
preceding, make you shiver, and sweat.

As I was doing, on both counts, until,
from three seats closer to escape, a dispute.
About, of all things, the green light in Gatsby.
Can this be real? Intrigued, I turned.
Both of us, disgusted with everything
walked toward a terrace, and on the way
my one thought was, She cannot possibly
look like that, in that skirt.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009