The Home Party

by the poet mom

An invitation to a (blank) party arrives.

I’m desperate for company.

So I accept.

Conversation swirls around kids, husbands and housework.

I am bribed with food.

The (blank) is shiny and new.

I am compelled.

I buy.

I leave with a full heart and an empty wallet.

A few weeks later,

I send out my own invitations for a (blank) party.

They come because they are lonely.

I serve food.

We chat.

They buy.

We are full.