The doors open
Clusters of pink and red
Smiling mouths
And cutting eyes
Carpet silences my steps
Through too many doors
We walk
Dark walls close in
I’m small
I fold my napkin in my lap
I watch


Black sheep
Flown in from their voluntary exile
Look uncomfortable in their ironed shirts
Haunted eyes dart anxiously
From one painted face to another
Gooey smiles
Pulled too tight
Remind them of their place
They broke their locks
They smashed their bars
But here, they must behave


At my table
We talk of ghosts
Ghosts that got away
Fake friends
With fake smiles
Come by
A handshake
A hello
Rapid-fire gossip peppers the air
As the smell of their perfume fades


In this universe
There isn’t much to disturb
The women know nothing of Michelangelo
As they walk from room to room
They pretend they are the wives
Of the redcoats hunting on the walls
Leaping over fences on their horses
Dogs faithfully at their feet
But instead they are the wives of doctors
Of lawyers
Spending money they don’t have


In my own universe
I think of Michelangelo
I laugh at their balding heads
Their skinny legs
Wrinkly arms
Tanned and dried like prunes


Expensive, distasteful dresses
Hang off their skeletal forms
They pick at their salads
Cocktails clutched in their long hands
Mouths opened wide like fish gasping for breath


They can’t pin me to the wall
For that, you must be noticed first
I don’t even leave a wake as I walk out
The sunshine welcomes me
The golfers on the lawn
Don’t look up
My steps become lighter
As I run out of the shadow
Of the faux marble columns
And into the freedom
Of knowing where I don’t belong