He was late in coming to the party in a tiny place that sat so unobtrusively near a parking lot
He entered without knocking, surprising the group of cortisones that weren’t expecting
Anyone in his economic class.

I was in the corner, looking up I saw his anxiousness,
He glanced around the room, looking for his wife
I knew she had retired with a wealthy unkempt Irishman
I saw the pain and pondered, ‘should I even twist the knife?’

When he could not come across her place, his face it dangled there
The irony that she was near; I could not let it pass
I raised my glass and spoke a toast ‘To love and love’s first haunting ghost’
Abruptly she appeared she was barking: she was caught.

How was I to know that you’d tell
How was I to know that you’d tell lies